An incredibly sad but typically eloquent and brave piece of writing by one of Jersey’s most respected journalists.
Yesterday I found out I will die soon.
A half hour video call with my oncologist in Southampton concluded I have a life expectancy of six to twelve months as my cancer is terminal.
The nasties growing between my heart and lung that three months of “salvage chemotherapy” had shrunk earlier this year have come back to life, but there are now more, and the expectation is they will continue to do their thing, possibly making their way to my liver, my brain and elsewhere in my body. They’re inoperable. There isn’t a treatment left to get rid of them.
I’m apparently unusual (I knew that!), with my oncologist seeing only one such case of this rare cancer each year.
There is a chemotherapy treatment that has the potential to add a few extra weeks, maybe months, to my life, but the trade off is the loss of quality of…
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