It is 8 days since we had the good news that my CT scan showed no recurrence or secondary spread of the cancer.I hadn't really made provisional plans for this eventuality; it seemed so unlikely. We hadn't even stocked up on bubbly, and had to stop at Tesco on the way home.
I have had some brilliant reactions from friends and family far and wide, and feel quite guilty that I seem to have taken it in my stride. In fact my reaction has been more like that of my oncology consultant, who came out into the waiting room to call us in, waved towards the two chairs, shook hands and asked me how I was before sitting down and saying in a very flat voice: 'Well, your CT scan was fine.'
We looked at each other in a sort of bewildered way, all our questions and comments rendered irrelevant by that simple statement. I managed to gather myself enough to ask for specifics about the liver, which has been enlarged for some time and seems to be getting bigger. He read me the appropriate part of the report, and then went on to talk about the side-effects of the chemo, past and continuing, even comparing it to the chemo used for breast cancer. What was all that about? He certainly didn't show any inclination to examine my liver, in fact I can't remember whether there was an examination couch in the room. It convinced me that oncology is not about patients' lives, but only about their life, in particular how long it can be extended.
Anyway, the good thing is that for the moment I am free of the cancer department, and returned to the care of the surgeon. That will undoubtedly mean follow-up colonoscopies, and probably removal of the polyps that I insist on making, but I don't dread that. I trust the surgeon, who has been very positive and honest about what he can do. I suppose this hands-on approach, that makes us partners in a venture that is expected to work out, suits my personality better than pouring poison into my circulation in the hope that it will kill more of the baddies than the goodies. It's about control. I don't like to think of myself as controlling, but my mother was, and my daughter admits that she is, so I guess I am coming round to it.
What happens next? My picture book launch is to be around the end of June, hopefully in our newly refurbished and redeveloped church building. I hope the printing process is going to plan. My brother Mick has been in France, and now we are in North Wales with Bob and Sheila, so I am not sure whether there are any hitches there. The novel, started as a project to give me something constructive to do during the chemotherapy, is as near finished as I can make it without input from others. As I am blogging, Sheila is in the lounge at Clogwyn reading my first entire printed copy. It isn't an exciting book: no adventure or crime detection or even major domestic occurences,so I suspect she may be found sleeping over my loose-leaf folder . I am making myself wonder whether it was actually worth writing; I would have given up months ago had it not been for my writing buddy Angela who has encouraged me every step of the way, and insisted that my genre is legitimate.
The weather is pretty awful, and has been for a couple of weeks now, here and in Norfolk. At home we have a hose-pipe ban which we are told will go on until December, but it is little problem at the moment because we have had no need to use the watering can on the garden. Presumably when Anglian water have finally filled the new reservoir in Essex with water from Norfolk's artesian wells they will allow us to have free access to our water. One doesn't want to be parochial and selfish, but we are the ones with the ban.
What I started out to say is that the weather is not important; we are enjoying time to sit round a late breakfast table and share news, read, watch 'a little bit of telly', (James's favourite bit of the day). No doubt Dave will want to walk on the beach once the tide has gone out, but it doesn't look inviting.
Time to find everyone else and check whether poor Sheila is looking glazed. Big plans for being alive? Not really, unless you count a tentative look forward to my 70th next year. Before that we have Mary-Ann's 40th, Megan's 18th, James starting school and perhaps a new novel to keep me occupied through November again.
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