Back to the everyday.

Today is a little different.  Not because i'm participating in the nation's Olympic hangover.  It an epic couple of weeks though wasn't it?
If I were following my chemo schedule from the past nine weeks I would currently be checking into my ward for five days of treatment.  Instead i've been out this morning to get coffee and i've sat in the park for a while having a 'think'.  Now i'm trying to decide what to do for the rest of the day.

I would like to......
Walk into town along Southbank to do some shopping for the husband's birthday later this week.
Pop into the gym for a quick workout.
Catch up with some friends for a drink.
Wander back along Southbank.

Instead, i'll probably walk to the bedroom in a minute for a snooze, wake up a little later, wander around the flat and generally get in the husband's way before heading to bed at around 9ish after an early dinner.  Living the dream...

I'm still overstretching myself and trying to do more than I can, which generally ends up with me in a heap on the bed panting and the husband standing over me tutting and making the comparison that "you think you're Superman, but you're more like Frank Spencer at the moment."  He's right and it's driving me insane but the more I push myself too early the longer it's going to take to recover so i'm just going to have to accept that i'm a little useless for a while.

But, I'm hoping that my body will notice that i'm not in treatment this week and realise it's all over and start the process of removing what's left of the chemicals in my body.  Who knows what new side effects that will produce but i'll let you know.

A Request.

It's Sunday night.  The 100m final is over and the UK is basking in the glow of Olympic gold and readying itself for another week of work or summer holidays.


I'm on the eve of my final week of treatment.  On Tuesday I have five hours of Bleomycin pumped into me (and pooling in my big toes it seems) and then that's it.  Life moves on.  I walk a little lopsided for the rest of it and for the next few months I rest and recover.


But that's not what i'm thinking.  I was never supposed to have this cancer in the first place.  It chose me and I was lucky enough to find where it was hiding before it was too late.  Obviously there were a few specialists and a lot of beeping equipment involved but you know by now that my narrative is short and to the point so go with me on this.


I've heard and read the statistics and I'll forever wear shorts and vests with yellow stripes on them from now on in the gym.  But what if it's not over on Tuesday?  
Now the positive thinkers and healers amongst you will be screaming at me now for letting my positive attitude slip.  How could I possibly think in such a way?  
Don't get me wrong.  My coping strategy is a pillar of fire that courses around my entire body and up my spine into my head.  That's what I imagine I have in there killing off all the nasties and I can tell you the Olympic cauldron has nothing on the amount of energy i've been pumping into it.  I'm never going to turn it off either.  
But just like the chemo drugs needed some cancer to kill off, my positive attitude needs even the smallest doubt to incinerate.  I'm a lawyer by trade, all I did every day was calculate what might happen and how to avoid it.  That's not going to change so those thoughts are there even in their weakest form..


I suppose what i'm asking is that if there is anything / anyone out there, no matter what you are called god, fate, allah whatever.  


Please don't let this come back.


Now lets get on with thrashing the Aussies in the medals table you Brits....