Still More Cheery Conversations

You've probably gathered from the post of a moment ago that I saw my PA again on Friday. It was part of the new Lonsurf regimen. They seems to want me to check in every two weeks, but since next week's travel got in the way the appointment got moved up.

But having seen the PA just a week ago, there wasn't much to talk about -- well, except the proctitis. Oh yeah, and dying. I spent a lot of time talking about dying on Friday, both with my PA and the social worker I was referred to see.  

It was a weird day.

And since it always freaks people out when I start writing about this stuff (and because time's gotten away from me and I really ought to give some thought to sleeping), I will once again limit myself to reporting/repeating a few highlights. 

#1 -- It's unlikely I'll die in the next six months, but my PA didn't want to talk too much about how long I could expect to live as reporting on statistics -- i.e., survival projections -- is the oncologist's job.

#2 -- When I do start to die, the most likely signals will include one or more of the following: a) increasing fatigue; b) pain, depending on where else the cancer springs up; and c) reduced appetite. Those, at least, are the ones I remember.

#3 -- According to the social worker, some health insurance plans will pay for the killer drugs. If they don't, Option A runs about $3,000, while Option B runs about $500. If I recall, one comes premixed as a liquid while the other comes as a powder you have to mix up yourself. If you go with the liquid, you've got to wait to buy it until you're ready to make your exit as it starts losing its effectiveness once it's mixed. I don't actually remember what the drugs were, but I know they both end with "-barbitol."

#4 -- There was a fair bit of tap dancing during this portion of the conversation, but according to the social worker you can't take the killer drugs out of Washington State. (Wouldn't you think it would be easier to smuggle drugs the opposite of the direction they usually go?) Additionally, there was strong encouragement not to make use of them in a hotel, as it can be hard to control the response in such a setting. I have to say, though, I'm not really sure the social worker was looking at things from the perspective of the patient throughout this portion of the conversation.

#5 -- I think the best news actually came from the social worker. She said that when the time actually came, it would feel a lot less weird than it does now. I'll have to take her word for it. I know it certainly couldn't feel any more weird. 

But the potential good news for everyone else is now that I've had all these conversations and it's all been documented, I don't need to have them again until the oncologist decides I actually am six months away from dying. So maybe I'll be able to focus on some other things for awhile. 

Yeah, no, probably not...