A quick update - Is life a Greek tragedy? Yes

Peter had a CT scan on Friday, as he wanted to see if there was any improvement in the cancer that was at the base of his throat following the treatment in June and July. Unfortunately the news was bad. While there was nothing to be said about the throat there are bone metastases in the spine at C7, T1 and T11 of the vertebrae with a high risk of spinal compression. I know that those of you with medical backgrounds will know immediately that this is very bad - as it means that as it progresses, every function below that level of the spine will cease to function. At C7 and T1 that means quadriplegia. At T11 that means paraplegia.

Peter and I are, of course, appalled at this possibility. It is and has been his worst nightmare for many years. It is also ironic as the last 3 days he has been so very much better. Getting dressed in clothing for the first time in 8 weeks, doing more exercises, being brighter and cheekier and engaged. His immediate response to the news as brought in by the Registrar was to get up and do more walking exercises. Once we had seen Dr P and talked over it more with him, Peter's immediate response was to get on with our game of Scrabble because thinking about it or talking about it were just too hard. That night, he dreamt he was well and healthy and when he woke he was unsure why I wasn't in bed with him and so he tried to find me. Which meant, unfortunately, trying to get out of bed and past the bed rails. This was not, as is sometimes characterised, "being out of it". He literally had some moments where he didn't realise he was ill and in the hospice. Of course, he came crashing back to reality when nurses tried to restrain him and dosed him with Morphine. So that when I arrived he was concerned he had done the wrong thing but he was only dreaming (having not had morphine beforehand). The tragedy of life is that dreams try to sort through and repair what is troubling us and in Peter's he was well again. The despair he felt when he realised he was, in fact, in his severely compromised health situation was heartbreaking to witness. I wept as he told me.

On a lighter note, he is still very much able to direct certain things. Yesterday was my birthday (one with a 0 at the end) and as usual I arrived at the hospice for a usual day nursing Peter. Some minutes later a cake and candles arrived that Peter had organised through the volunteers to purchase for me. He also had 2 nurses and a volunteer sing Happy Birthday to me. I cried at his thoughtfulness at such a time when he is so incapacitated!

Later 3 sets of other friends surprised me with a visit, edibles, cards, a fantastic bunch of flowers and some lovely gifts. So Peter was wheeled to the sliding door to the outside world so he could be a witness to our outdoor gathering with the first fabulous spring day we have had. I wish I had a magic wand to cure him, so that we could share things more actively again. His mental acuity is still very intact and when he is feeling reasonable, he is a delight to be with and share things with him.

I still hold out some hopes of bringing him home. Eight weeks in hospital and the hospice is taking its toll on both of us. It is not easy to be at other people's beck and call and unfortunately, there is no peace, privacy or free will in institutions, no matter where you are.

Leanne