Tuesday 17th May
Today I went for the Month 30 set of appointments as part of my participation in the clinical trial, Combi-Ad. This is a double-blind, adjuvant treatment, for patients with Stage 3 malignant melanoma.
(Three years ago today I had a second operation to take a wider excision around the offending alien blob on my left foot, having been told the tumour was malignant. I also had a skin graft from my thigh placed over the large wound.)
So, today I started off with a visit to my consultant dermatologist, who confirmed that the minor surgery I had had in February, following my previous visit, had successfully removed a basal cell carcinoma. No more to worry about, as far as that was concerned.
She did though, decide to ‘zap’ a few seborrhoeic keratoses ~ basal cell papillomas ~ sometimes worryingly called ‘senile warts’. Oh dear.
Using a pressurised spray of liquid nitrogen, I was uncomfortable for a few seconds, with a promise that these offending blobs would fall off presently. Happy days.
It was then off to a second hospital for an appointment with my trials nurse for bloods and observations.
I found out here that I should have received notification of a CT scan, but none had been forthcoming. A scan will be carried out at another hospital, closer to home, within the next week or so. A scan is part of the trial protocol, to check for the possibility of spread of tumours, so it is imperative that I have this carried out.
I think over the last thirty months I have had twenty CT scans. So many more than normal, but it is what the trial requires. Radioactive, moi?
My final appointment of the day was with my oncologist. All is good so far, no worries, no problems; we’ll just have to wait upon the results of the scan.
We stopped in at your resting place before we arrived at home, at the end of a long day. We had to check that you were ok: the rain had begun, but your flowers were still looking fresh. We talked with you, letting you know how the day had gone for us. Many times you had accompanied me on my hospital visits, asking questions of the nurses, looking around the newsagents, reading magazines in the waiting rooms.
We miss you so very much.
Love you sweetheart.
Precious Angel son.