"It's still scary"

02–06.09.2013

The New Times continues to follow the story of a man who received a terminal diagnosis*

"What to write?" I ask my wife this. She sighs. “Write that Nastya arrived, that she was immediately taken into circulation ... Write that you were taken into circulation ... too ...” These are such dry facts, behind which there are bare nerves, because everything here has only been on nerves and will. At such moments, you just realize that there is so much to write that there is nothing to write.

My sister Nastya is now being urgently prepared to become my donor: she is in a wheelchair (she, alas, has been in a wheelchair for a long time, but she still wants to be a donor), and for her this day began about 34 hours ago in Voronezh. However, as soon as she arrived, she went to the clinic, and now in the doctor's office we are all planning. I haven't seen my sister in what seems like a hundred years, and now I'm watching her talk to the doctor and I'm glad that her English has improved a lot. “We now have such a big good team,” the doctor is also pleased. He really lacked clarity with the donor, and now it is clear that he can not wait to move on to decisive action.

And my lymph nodes in my neck are growing again. Growing despite the emergency chemo given to keep them down. And now it’s not up to strategic planning, now just dive headlong into tactics and swim out. The doctor says that on Monday he will hospitalize me again. Radiation will be added to chemotherapy - aimed at the lymph nodes of the neck. It is very fortunate that almost all the tumors have gathered in one area. On the other hand, it is very bad that this problem area is my neck. A heel would be better... At least it would sound less tragic :)

And diving into all this treatment - with "combat" poisonous substances and radiation - is still scary. Ridiculous even - it would be nice to have plenty to choose from! .. There is nothing to choose from here. But it's scary. How many times did he convince himself and others that fears are a completely useless thing, but all the same. I'm not brave at all. Every time - before the next operation, chemistry, radiation - you still have to force yourself to calm down and get ready. Logic is logic, but it is impossible to be always ready for everything.

I ask the doctor for an opinion on the chances of success of our next campaign against cancer. "50%". “Is that in the sense that it either works or it doesn’t?” I smile. “No, it means that I will cure you.”