Scan Results!

We sat down on one of my less good days and talked about what was essential this Christmas. We decided that while pressies and decorations and special groceries might or might not happen this year, a Christmas letter must! I soon realised how difficult it was for me to write the broad brushstrokes because I've got into the habit of this sort of level of communication.

Hence, straight in with my reflections on monday's consultation. All the tumour sites have reduced. The liver by half and the stomach by a centimetre (5.5cm to 4.5cm) and the lymph nodes by a bit. Sarah was pleased and I was intensely relieved. You see I had gone yesterday convinced that the symptoms I'm feeling must be an indication that the disease is on the attack again. It would seem not. PHEW!!

The results still left us with lots to talk about in relation to my chemo. Why is this time just so much harder? Sarah was comforting about how hard it was. We discussed the possibility of taking a break, if I need to. I told her how gruelling I had found the fortnightly regime.

It’s like I can live 3½ days in every 7. It’s pretty weird. For the week after chemo I’m lethargic and nauseous. Everything feels like a huge effort. Imagining ‘the worse’ is the big temptation and spiralling downwards is fairly inevitable. Then a week after treatment (and one week before the next) I normally start to regain my old self. There are slightly too many blips for my liking, where I’ll bring my food back up or need to bailout for a lie down. Generally though, I can predict that I’ll hit the ground running and happy (so so happy). Annoyingly though, I seem to find it impossible to keep my sights on the good days during my bad week. Every ‘bad week’ is just an ominous premonition of more bad times than good times ahead…

And into all this a child is born! Well it is Christmas after all – I may as well use the analogy that’s being offered to us at this time of year. If you asked me this morning - how am I coping? I might choose to talk about the presence of a child. There is something about a child that can take you beyond yourself. I know it happens to me with my kids – I rally. I find resources from somewhere to pretend as best as I am able, that all is well. I know I’m not alone here, every parent has been there. The sort of rallying I’m talking about is when you trade a legitimate sense of feeling sorry for yourself with the possibility of contributing to a child’s blissful contentment with the world. It’s certainly not always possible and thankfully we’ve got so many amazing people around us, that on the days when I can’t do it (like today as it turns out) there are always others that will love the kids for me.

I think I need to believe that the presence of the God-child for me, in this crazy illness, will be enough. Enough for me to rally. I still have choices at this stage and the emotional and spiritual battle was always going to be the hardest. My spirit joined together with God’s Spirit at work in me, needs to see life beyond myself. To see life itself – like a gift – like the presence of a child.

Happy Christmas!

As it turned out - Ali had to go into Barts on Tuesday night and is staying there through Wednesday while they try and get her temperature down from a stubborn 40C and try and work out what the infection is and get it treated....so no chemo today then...