Month 30



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.



Three years ago today. Wider excision of alien blob, plus skin graft, resulting in lower leg encased in plaster.


42 responses »

    • Thank you.
      Melanoma is the deadliest form of skin cancer ~ it’s sneaky, in that it can recur at any time ~ not just a case of cut it out and it’s gone.
      I too have learnt so much these past three years. That mine was most probably the result of having sunburn in childhood. We went on regular summer beach holidays, to South of France, lived for two years in Singapore, and didn’t really know about high factor sun screen then. In fact, in my teenage years I used to plaster myself with babyoil and then go and sunbathe.
      Now, I’m careful not to sit in the heat of the midday sun, wear a hat if I am walking around, use a moisturiser with sunscreen, and not bare as much skin as I used to.
      Being sensible, really, and not going for that lined, wrinkled, leather sofa look!

      Liked by 1 person

      • That’s scary and see I just thought that once it was cut out that was it. So monitoring then becomes key to remaining cancer free.

        Yeah back in the day we didn’t know as much as we do today about how harmful the sun’s rays can become. I remember a lady whose skin really was leather-like yet she still exposed herself to sunbathing.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Oh yes, scary times indeed.
        But we are so much more knowledgeable now, and great advancements have been made in treatments available.
        Onwards and upwards……

        Liked by 1 person

  1. When I read you – this is what I feel. I feel that your love for your son is something we should all wish to have in life – but few do. Your love is stronger than so many and it is enduring and such a testament to love as a concept. I feel that love is in this world MORE because of what you write. That is a good thing. I grieve with you but from your love comes so much good. I only wish for more goodness and protection for you in your suffering and your good heart that truly does make the world better for you being in it and being honest and lovely

    Liked by 1 person

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