Whether republicans or monarchists, we are all supporters of the GG (Guy’s Gut). So I knew you wouldn’t want to miss any twist in the tale. The final act of the drama unfolded like this:

1. 11th: Saw GP A — not my regular one, who was unavailable. She gave me a pathology test kit, just in case I had something more than common old gastro. I dropped this off at a path collection point a few days later. When I didn’t hear anything about it, I assumed it didn’t show anything unusual. (The practice doesn’t contact patients about path results except if they show something urgent or out of the ordinary.)
2. 18th: Felt worse over the weekend, so saw GP B (my regular). He rang the path lab. The test he was hoping GP A had requested, she hadn’t requested. So he asked them “Can you run an XYZ test on the existing samples?”. Yes, they could. On what I told him and my treatment history, he went ahead and diagnosed a likely Giardia infection. He gave me a script for Flagyl (an antibiotic) and a few other bits and pieces. I had to take the Flagyl for 3 days: no grog (haven’t been having any anyway).
3. 20th: After having the Flagyl over the last 3 days, I felt dramatically better! GP B had hit the bullseye — good on him. Normal energy, appetite, number 2s, the works. As far as I am concerned, case closed. However, later that day, I got a message from the practice to ring them. I needed to make an appointment with GP A to discuss the test results (remember them?). I made a time for the following day.
4. 21st: GP A told me it wasn’t Giardia after all, but Aeromonas. Apparently this is a more unusual species of bug, mainly seen in travellers. Same treatment, but it is less likely to recur than Giardia. (This is because the Flagyl kills the Giardia parasites, but not their eggs. A recurrence of symptoms after two or three weeks is therefore possible.) She recommended a probiotic to restore some of the gut flora that the Flagyl will have knocked out. Oh, and I am still off the grog for a few more days.

The most important thing: I feel normal. Today I walked nearly 13,000 steps (about 9.5 kilometres). Appetite, energy levels, and all functions back to normal.

I am re-reading The master, by Colm Toibin, for a discussion group on Saturday.  (For those who haven’t read it, this is his novel about Henry James.) When I checked the publication date, I was surprised to see it was published 14 years ago. I did my Honours thesis on James over 40 years ago, so when this novel came out, I was naturally interested to read it. I was impressed then with Toibin’s novelistic treatment of him, and I still am.

It strikes me, this time around, that there is a lot about social blindness in his treatment of Henry James. (Well, I have always thought of the concept as “social blindness”. An example of this is someone at a nude beach, who strenuously ignores the naked bodies in front of them. Of course, they are just as interested as anyone else would be. They are just not peering too obviously, to avoid the social stigma of being thought a pervert. Maybe someone can tell me what this is actually called in social psychological terms.)

In The master, James feels as if people can tell that he has — as he might put it — particular inclinations. (These crop up pretty early on, so it is no spoiler to disclose it here.) He loathes people inferring this about him, as anyone might. According to Wikipedia, homosexuality was a capital crime until 1861 in Britain, after when it continued to be regarded as a serious offence. Of course, no-one accuses James out loud! The niceties (social blindness) are thus preserved; the fictional James, however, feels vulnerability and shame.

With all these inferences and implications, Toibin infuses the early scenes of the book with a fair degree of tension. In this “faction”, James is portrayed as an observer of human behaviour. (Sargent’s portrait captures this aspect of his personality; as do the books.) That less fastidious people can apparently observe him just as readily adds an uncomfortable paradox. From memory, his sexuality is thought to be ambiguous. It appears that he renounced entanglements the better to write about them. The real Henry James was famously discreet in this as in all things.

This hot weather we have been having in Melbourne has been giving a further boost to my general scattiness. That, and the lack of any new developments (and appointments over Christmas), have contributed to the absence of posts for the last few weeks.

I saw Dr P, my oncologist, on the 16th. (This appointment was, as usual, preceded by a blood test.) The main no-news is that the PSA continues to be undetectable. I had been told I was to have another Zolodex implanted that day. (This is the ADT drug that we hope will continue to keep the cancers inactive.) Dr P checked with the hospital; I had the previous one implanted at Cycle 5 of the chemo, on 5 December 2018. They last about three months, so I am not due for another one until 27 February (my next appointment with him). This fits in as, in the new regimen, I will be seeing Dr P every six weeks. So I will get a new Zolodex implant every other appointment.

Meanwhile I will also be having a scan, booked for 23 January. This will be a tracer-type scan, before which I have to drink a preparation containing barium. (I was issued with the preparation and instructions for taking it on the day that I saw Dr P.) As usual with scans, the purpose is to detect any unusual or unexpected activity. I have had one of these before without ill effect; I think I have had just about every type of scan commonly on offer.  I don’t mind what it is as long as it isn’t an MRI, which I find pretty claustrophobia-inducing.

My fingernails are showing one of the main side effects of the chemo, turning various shades of yellow (left hand) and grey (right hand). This has been accompanied by soreness at the tips of the fingers, which hasn’t seemed to spread down to the gripping function of the hands. So I can still open jars and bottles, and hoist weights at the gym, but have trouble pulling my credit cards out of my wallet. Dr P said this was one of the most common side effects of chemotherapy. The nails will grow out normally from the cuticle, and the old darkened nails would gradually drop off. I have been getting some swelling as well around the ankles, particularly on the left side. (With the help of Dr Google I diagnosed this as lymphedema, a common occurrence in people who have had lymph nodes removed.)  I have been dealing with this by elevating the ankles, particularly at night, and wrapping the left hand one in a bandage that I got when I twisted an ankle years ago. Both things seem to work quite well, and fortunately the ankles aren’t painful at all when swollen.

I had a claustrophobic reaction also to an exhibition that we went to see recently at NGV International about Escher and X nendo — the latter someone of whom you will have heard if you are a Gen Y or Z. Unfortunately I couldn’t see 95% of this exhibition, as it was pretty crowded, extremely dark, and laid out in such a way that you couldn’t see more than a few metres ahead of you. I had to bail out after a few minutes and go and have a look at the merch. (The tickets had been freebies from American Express, so I didn’t mind too much.) We saw another exhibition some time after this, about Baldessin and Whiteley, also at NGV (the Potter this time). This was a far more pleasurable exhibition to attend, with a much more light and airy layout which emphasised the contrasts and similarities between these artists. This exhibition finishes on 28 January BTW; an entry fee is payable for both. It is worth it, IMHO, to see Whiteley’s huge Lavender Bay pictures, and his epic American Dream sequence.

I am becoming a bit blase about the chemo sessions, I fear. My dedicated followers will know the last one of the six occurred yesterday. I was just poking around in the kitchen a short time ago, looking at the calendar, which had it listed for Boxing Day. My trusty Raymond Weil automatic watch, obtained through the combined generosity of RMIT and my beloved about four years ago, told me it was the 28th today. Other sources contradicted this, telling me that today is the 27th: ergo, I had had the chemo yesterday. (The date window in the Raymond, for some reason, only adjusts forwards. Rather than advance a whole month, it is easier to not wear it for a day, and let the date run down to the correct one. September, April, June and November are all easy months, as all that is required is a single advance. February, of course, requires two, but I can just about cope with that.)

If I was having trouble remembering when I actually had the chemo, you can infer it went without incident. The worst thing was the coffee they sweetly made me in the oncology unit — they are so nice, I feel a bit mean to complain! (I just had another one at home.) The PSA continues to edge south, being now <0.01 — truly undetectable. I am not having any side effects yet, apart from a bit of fluid retention around the ankles. We got some lovely presents the day before, including a bottle of Mumm — my favourite! And my beloved gave me a super photo of our wedding day (the silver anniversary of which having ticked over a few days before).

Today it was hot — about 37 — so we went to see a morning session of Collette at the Balwyn Cinema. It was enjoyable, if rather resembling a BBC three-part costume drama stitched into a feature film. I would say “Get it on video”, but I am showing my age there! Still, anything with Keira Knightley is generally worth watching. Domenic West was good as Collette’s husband, the frightful (and appropriately-named) Willy. Lunch followed at a local Italian place, which was reliable as always. Then home to sit in the air conditioning and watch Day 2 of the Boxing Day test.  Hope everyone’s Christmas-New Year break is slipping similarly under the radar!

I saw Dr Parente this morning, and had chemo #4. All went well. The good news from the consult:

1. PSA is now 0.01 (down from 0.03); and
2. I am now, according to Dr P, in remission.

I am still not quite sure if it has quite sunk in. Of course, to put it bluntly, “remission” doesn’t equate to “cure”. Still, I would rather have this result than others! Staying on the ADT should mean that the remission continues as long as possible.

Yesterday I saw an exercise physiologist. This was as a result of a leaflet given to me at the previous chemo session. There is a push to make exercise much more of a front line treatment for prostate and other cancers. (I wrote about this previously .) So I now have an exercise physio specialising in such matters. What is the difference between an exercise physio and a regular physio? In this context, the former has a qualification in working with particular patients; in my case, obviously, those with prostate cancer. They have the skills to devise and implement an exercise program that will both be tailored for my individual capabilities — any physio does this — and not aggravate the bone mets. The latter is the secret sauce!

What’s so good about exercise, anyway? Apart from all its usual benefits, you mean, like improving sleep (for most of us, anyway), lowering blood cholesterol, stress and risk of heart attack and stroke, and enhancing bone density, cognitive function and general well being? All with next to no side effects, at generally a modest cost. (How much does it cost to go for a walk?) Yes, OK, but what does it do for cancer patients? Well, the more active blood circulation increases the exposure of the tumours to the nasty stuff in the chemotherapy compounds. So they get more of what they don’t like. Why don’t more GPs prescribe exercise, then? Well, for one thing, not many exercise themselves. Some of the issues are canvassed in this recent MJA article [NB: pdf.] As ever, your mileage with your particular GP may vary.

Warning: eyeglazing detail to follow. One can get onto an exercise physiologist via a Chronic Disease Management Plan . This gives five subsidised consults with a physio (any type), chiropractor, nutritionist, or other allied healthcare professional. You can see more than one of these, but you still only get five consults per calendar year. Your GP decides whether such a thing would be appropriate for you, what practitioner/s you should consult, etc. (guided in practice by your input). It is a bit of a bureaucratic echo chamber, and a well-kept secret, but nevertheless a good idea for fairly crook people. Once you jump through all the hoops, the subsidy is much better than you would get for getting those services through your private health fund.

We just had a couple of days catching up with family in Ocean Grove and Barwon Heads. We stayed with one of the sisters in law, and caught up with all the other family members whom we hadn’t seen for a while. (Last Christmas I had not long had my operation, so we dipped out for that reason.) This was a very cruisy visit. The thought crossed both our minds to go down in the new TTM, a,k.a. Testosterone Machine. (The second “T” makes it scan better, don’t you think? Actually, what about Testosterone Transplant and Orgone Machine, a.k.a TTOM?)

We decided against this for several reasons. First, we are still waiting on the full size spare. (More on this later.) OK, there is an inflation kit, but I didn’t feel like getting to grips with that beside the Geelong Road on Cup Weekend. Second, I was very tired, and thought I might fall asleep at the wheel. My beloved can drive it, but is less familiar with it than I am. Third, although we have added it to our Linkt account, we have as yet no clip in which to attach the new e-tag. The tag itself is still sitting in the old clip behind the mirror of the Fairmont, whence I just have not had time to remove it. Fourth, in all the documents I had been given for the car, there was no phone number for the roadside assist service that comes with the extended warranty.

This was something I had to follow up. While going through the car manuals, receipts and so on, I had noticed that the roadside assist phone number was missing. I wanted to check on the full size spare as well, so called the dealer. The salesman from whom we had bought the car was away sick. I there fore explained it all to a fairly gormless sounding person, who coughed into the phone without saying “excuse me”. (He did say “Sorry about that” when I remonstrated with him.) He passed me over to a more senior salesman who had been present for the purchase of the car. Obviously no explanation had been given of the reason for my call, as I had to explain it all over again. Had we been given a little warranty booklet? We had been, but I had forgotten it in all the excitement, and no-one had mentioned it to me. This booklet contained the magic phone number.

We were going away on the Saturday. I was coincidentally picking up the Camry from a service the day before — not at the Toyota dealer, but nearby — so decided I would drop in to pick up this booklet while I was out. I saw the business manager, who searched on their database. No, I wasn’t on there. I began to wish I’d brought all the paperwork with me so he could get the details from there. He did eventually find the transaction. I got a copy of the booklet, into which he clipped a small printed notice with the roadside assist details. We agreed I would take the booklet home, he would raise a receipt which he would then scan and email me. I would print this receipt out at home; I would then stick it inside the booklet with the little piece of double-sided tape provided for that purpose. Clip the printed notice over the receipt, and I would be in business. All this he and I duly did. So now I have the phone number and the roadside assist dudes have verification that I am the authorised owner. (Note to self — remove previous car from RACV roadside assist.)

It is not all fiddly details and things falling through the cracks. Alert readers — I’m sure you’ve both had your coffee — will recall I purchased a two year warranty. There was an additional statutory warranty of three months. Rather than give us a combined warranty of two years and three months, the dealership gave us one for three years, at no extra cost. The reason? They can only provide warranty cover for two or three years, not 2.25 years. So rather than round us down to two years, they rounded us up to three.

The spare wheel? Thanks for asking. The senior salesman said “I’ll have to order that for you”. In other words, no-one had done anything about it. I just hope it will be available for Christmas, probably to be held down on the coast again, in about seven weeks. You’re welcome!

A couple of years ago, I finally subscribed to the Melbourne community radio station 3MBS-FM. Because I did this during their annual radiothon, my subscription was entered in their prize draw. Renewing my sub this year, I won 6th prize in the draw, which was a weekend hire of a car from Toorak Mercedes.

(If you think this is a plug for 3MBS, you might be right. As Bill McLaughlan, presenter of Exploring Music says, if you’ve been thinking about subscribing, don’t feel guilty – do something! You do get a lot for your $30. And from their monthly online guide, one can actually see what programs are being broadcast. (Luddites can get this guide in hard copy, for no extra charge.) Planning one’s listening is practically impossible with ABC Classic FM, despite all the time and, presumably, money lavished on the recent upgrade to their web site. Don’t live in Melbourne? Support your local community radio station.)

Getting back to the prize, a Benz is a nice piece of metal to punt around for a day and generally put on airs. This is particularly so, given that our cars are 14 and 22 years old. My beloved and I were originally going to have a weekend in Daylesford, or somewhere like that, in July. This was pretty close to the date of her work moving to Port Melbourne and all the stress associated with that process. (Former colleagues relocated to Bundoora can sympathise!) So we decided to defer the country excursion for a bit until she was more used to getting herself to Port Melbourne and back.

Cometh the hour, cometh the vehicle, in the shape of a GLC 350 SUV with only 7,000 kilometres on the clock. (We had expressed interest in borrowing a GLA or C class. This being near the end of the month, however, there weren’t many sedans in stock, so we got upsized into the GLC.) The logistics of picking it up were not straightforward. I had originally thought we would get to Toorak by public transport. Given that this involved getting to Riversdale station, a train from there to Burnley, then another to Heyington, and a hike up the hill to Toorak Village, we opted to drive there, then proceed by convoy home. So guess who got to drive it back to beautiful downtown Burwood?

A sales “executive” showed us the ropes beforehand. It has proximity unlocking. This means it detects when someone approaches it with the key. To open the door, just press a button in the door handle, then pull the handle back towards you. Inside, you can leave the key in your pocket, or put it in one of the cup holders. Seats, steering wheel, and external mirrors have power settings that can be saved individually. Gear selection is done by way of a lever mounted on the steering column, like a turn indicator. (Yes, that’s the one on the left hand side, like all Euro cars.) Want to open the tailgate? Wave one foot under the rear bumper bar; then step back. The tailgate majestically rises. Same procedure to close it.

The Benz is chockers with this kind of electronic gadgetry. Seatbelts tension themselves across your chest as you draw out from the kerb. If you are changing lanes, and someone is approaching on that side, it shows a red triangle in the mirror and beeps. Draw in to park it, and the passenger side external mirror angles down so you can see how close you are to the kerb. When driving up our driveway, lined with rather overgrown plants, beeping begins to sound. Squeezing it into our garage, past the less ancient car, the front camera automatically switches on.  This screen gives you red and yellow lines (with more beeping) as you approach obstacles like other cars and walls. Lights and wipers switch on automatically. You get the picture.

We just drove it up to the Dandenongs and back. On the road it gets along very well. There is plenty of mumbo on tap, albeit with a long travel accelerator pedal, but the turbo diesel is quiet. Even on the Comfort setting, the ride is not plush, something for which the run flat tyres are probably responsible. You feel the road surface, lane markers, driveways, and so on. However, the seats are great, controls are beautifully laid out, and it is generally easy to punt along. It isn’t actually bigger than either of our existing cars; the SUV packaging just makes it feel bigger, on account of its being higher. Could I get used to it? Certainly! You would probably walk away from most prangs. We don’t have 80 large to splash on a vehicle, though.

We had lunch in Maling Road, after which my beloved proceeded to have a mani and pedi. I made myself useful by buying some meat and vegetables for tomorrow (being Grand Final day public holiday), then having an iced coffee sitting on the pavement. Did I mention it was a sunny day? 24 degrees! On our way back to the Benz, my beloved saw a dress in a little shop. Trying it on was facilitated by my taking her top off for her in the change room (so as not to muck up the newly done nails), buttoning and unbuttoning the dress. The dress having gotten a guernsey, as it were, the process happened in reverse. Being a Thursday, it was not too busy anywhere. And we got home in time to miss the school pick-up imbroglio. Each of us had something on order for home delivery; both parcels arrived. The day would not have been improved if my beloved’s ticket had won the lottery.

A cure for insomnia? That seems something we are as likely to see as as a perpetual motion machine. Nevertheless, this article from The Guardian has definite cred. (Apologies, as ever, for cross posting.) Merely by taking people’s insomnia seriously, Dr Selsick of the Insomnia Clinic in Bloomsbury is doing a great service. The method seems to work, too, in the experience of the article’s author. The good doctor is also refreshingly non-doctrinaire about sleeping tablets. No-one regards them as ideal, but, as he points out, sleep deprivation carries risk as well.  (I have tried the sleep medication mentioned in the article, Belsomra. It does something, just not quite enough.)

I am going OK with the aftermath of the chemotherapy. Thursday and Friday were pretty normal days. Yesterday and today I have noticed more symptoms, mostly a bit of discomfort in the legs and ankles. These symptoms are not new, but have become more noticeable over the last couple of days. So far a combo of paracetamol and a little Endone is making it tolerable. (Thanks, Jane, for putting me onto that.) I found a good booklet on cancer pain and medications online from the Cancer Council, updated, as it happens, this month. The booklet discusses various aspects of pain, medications, and pain management in a useful way. Of course what I am experiencing is not cancer pain, more a side effect of the chemo.

I didn’t write much before about the actual process of receiving the treatment. Being the first time, it took a bit longer, there being more to explain. The nurse was very thorough in doing this and walking me through the side effects that I may or may not experience. After putting in a cannula, they started with an anti-nausea drug, then put another drip in for the chemo (a drug called Docetaxel). Putting in the Docetaxel takes about 1.5 hours. I also got an implant just under the skin of the stomach; this lasts for three months. The implant is about the size of a grain of rice. I haven’t had any problems with wounds where the cannula or the implant went in.

On Wednesday night, my face felt a bit hot, and my cheeks were a a little red. I just put some face cream on from the sample bag of products donated by the hospital pharmacy. (Marketing, of course, but the products themselves all seem good.) There was quite a number of mouth care products: moisturising toothpaste, mouthwash, and gel. The nurse also suggested I could make a mouthwash from a salt or baking powder solution.

The chemo goes on a three week cycle.  I am to have six cycles, so five to go. (I should be finished in early January, 2019.) I will probably feel pretty ordinary in the middle week of the three as the red and white blood cells drop. As these recover in the following week, I should feel better. I have to have a blood test at the beginning of each chemo week. If all is well here, and I don’t have a temperature, I should be good to go. I still have about half the ADT tablets to take, but I should have finished those by the time the next chemo rolls around.