A pleasant surprise
I went to see The Boss yesterday, fully expecting that by the end of this week I’d be back in that blue plastic chair in the chemo unit, arm in a bucket of hot water to tempt my poor veins to the surface, being sent home with a bag full of anti-sickness meds with Thailand a distant memory. To my surprise, and delight, the next stage of treatment has been postponed, at least in the short-term. I’ll be going onto Eribulin at some point but for now, Alison wants to just have a little look at my lungs to see whether anything has progressed majorly since my last scan. If there’s not much new to see, she’ll delay treatment until there is. So the next 3 weeks are mine. A whole 21 days. 3 weeks to ‘normal’ people is peanuts, whereas to me it’s a mini lifetime. Having spent the best part of the last 17 months pretty much on constant treatment of some kind, 3 weeks plus the 6-7 I’ve already had off since my last chemo is a very, very long time. Physically I feel tip-top. And will get to enjoy that feeling for at least another month which is the earliest I’ll start the drug. Good days are precious. Good days are when you haven’t got your head in a toilet bowl, where your mouth isn’t ravaged with sores, when you can function and get on with work and life and everything else inbetween. To be given a few more weeks is just dandy. Good old Alison, she could see how much this recent break has meant to me and she’s happy to extend that for a bit longer. Of course I’m nervous – even though chemo is whack, to say the least, there is a reason for it, so there is every possibility that the next scan will show the stupid cancer has been having a right jolly old time this past 6 weeks and I’ll be in that plastic chair again before you know it but it won’t be today and it won’t be tomorrow and that, friends, is good. For the next 3 weeks I’m checking out. Hurrah.