me to let me know he was retiring. His last words to me were, “It may be a while until new treatments are available for people who have failed the current directacting antivirals. Keep your eye on what is happening and contact the clinic once you see that new options are available.” I wished him a happy retirement. Fast-forward to 2018 and, following prompting from my parents, I went to my GP and we looked at where treatment options were at. It appeared that I might be eligible for some new treatments in the near future! My GP referred me to the liver clinic, now located in the brand-new RAH. The usual round of tests started. Bloods, ultrasound then fibroscan. It was during the fibroscan, on a brand new machine, that the liver nurse started to look worried. I could tell the results were unexpectedly poor. CT scans and an MRI followed. I knew something was up, and in early December 2018 the locum at the clinic rang me. Indications were that I had cancer and to be eligible for transplant it was best that I stop drinking immediately. I did—my last drink was on 15 December, 2018, at 2pm. The formal diagnosis was
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delivered to me two weeks later. I had hepatocellular carcinoma—liver cancer. What a lovely Christmas present. This news came on top of my partner and I negotiating a separation agreement. Our relationship had been in trouble for some time and it was time to part. My life was falling apart dramatically. I sent an urgent email to my psychologist seeking an appointment. Luckily, she got me in straight away. Since then I have been seeing her regularly and those visits really help hold me together. My diagnosis presented some serious issues. There were various tumours in both sides of my liver; surgery was not an option. There was no chance now of treating my hep C. Use of the hep C drugs would likely cause the cancer to proliferate. It also turned out that I was not eligible for transplant due to the extent of the cancer, which would likely return after transplant. It seemed I was now on death row, having exhausted all my opportunities for appeal. It was now a case of delaying the executioner for as long as possible. In 2019 I underwent two rounds of TACE treatment, where chemo drugs are
HEPATITIS SA COMMUNITY NEWS 87 • September 2020
injected directly into the liver. This helped control and stabilise things. However, the treatment is not very subtle— it’s rather like throwing hand grenades into the liver. It blasts the larger tumours but is ineffective against smaller ones. This year I started on a relatively new anti-cancer drug which hopefully targets the cancer at a molecular level. Results are due soon. On a personal level I am now co-parenting my wonderful son, still working, exercising, going about life and trying to have a positive attitude (the latter being a big challenge). I have come to terms with the fact that my life will be cut short. I am OK with that except where my son comes into the picture. The tears on my keyboard as I write this are for a son who might lose his father way too early. My aim is to try to be there for his eighteenth birthday. Time will tell. I can’t pray to God to help me as it was one of His flock, in one of His institutions, whose perverted, selfish acts eventually led to me being where I am today. Instead I continue to try to find the inner strength to be positive, and writing this article is part of that journey. v David
