29 February 2024 (ooh, leap year!)

‘So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.’ Hebrews 13:6

Where to start? With Monday’s CT scan, perhaps, which was happily nowhere near as bad an experience as I was fearing (I’m still being traumatised by thoughts of my previous MRI scan that lasted an hour and twenty minutes, but this one was practically over before it had started. And the Mary Poppins-like nurse was lovely.)

As soon as I was back home from the scan, operation ‘keep very busy with nice things to distract from the tortuous 2-day wait for results’ began. Cue a short village power walk and long soak in the hot tub with Marvellous Monday Judy (vindication for the previous failed attempt, yay). And a wonderful Tuesday was spent going to view the most gorgeous venue for the 50th birthday do some wonderful friends are organising for me. Yes, 2024 was always going to be a big year- and I haven’t even mentioned Lydia’s wedding in Cyprus in July… well now I have… will the Mother of the Bride get there? I so, so hope so.

After viewing the lovely Auberge du Lac at Brocket Hall, three of us enjoyed a lunch which involved hours of chatting and finally some eating once we stopped talking for long enough to order. Just what I needed. And a lovely piano lesson as soon as I got back, flute lesson for Isaac and exam recording session for one of my pupils, resulting in a busy and fulfilling day.

My appointment with Doom, sorry, Count Onc, was at 5.30 on Wednesday evening. Cue more lovely distractions throughout the day, which included a visit to my friend Derek, conductor and organ wizard, so he could play my now-finished hymn through for me on his incredible garden shed organ and make helpful suggestions (writing for organ is not for the faint-hearted). Derek’s eagle eye also spotted some significant errors that I had made with the lyrics, which definitely wouldn’t have happened before chemo brain…

An afternoon trip to town helped me avoid sitting at home, and then it was time to go to the hospital. After battling through the rain and single track roads to Harpenden, we arrived in good time, and waited with sweaty palms and butterfly-filled tummies. And waited. And waited. Count Onc was coming from another hospital and 45 minutes later still hadn’t arrived. This was torture.

Finally Nurse Becca appeared and led us into the consulting room. All I knew was that every moment of my life up until now had been easier than this one. Count Onc began to talk. I had prepared many fictional versions of what he might say:

‘Unfortunately…’

‘Remarkably…’

The truth was somewhere in the middle- but nearer to the first option if truth be told. ‘It’s a mixed picture’, Onc informed us. ‘Some things have improved, such as the ascites fluid which has completely resolved, and there are no new tumours.’ However, he then told us that most of the existing liver and lung tumours have progressed and the ovarian mass has increased significantly. I have no idea where it is hiding: since Bertha packed her bags, my tummy has been nice and small…

Onc then conveyed that he didn’t want to carry on with the current chemo for even one more cycle, as it is apparently not going to do any more good. He is proposing a different combination of drugs, Folfiri, which will come complete with brand new side effects including probable hair loss. I had been preparing myself for hair loss right at the start, then was overjoyed to discover that the chemo I was to have didn’t cause it. But now another adjustment is needed; I’m designing my wig in my head as I speak…

What is more, Onc said I can’t have chemo the week before we go skiing due to the risk of not being near a hospital, and they can’t start a new regime with just one cycle next week and then a big gap, so I can’t have anything until after skiing- in April! And that will bring us to my 50th birthday celebrations- not a good time to have the first cycle of new chemo… I don’t know what to do- stay home instead of going to France so I can have chemo and maybe then enjoy my birthday? Or focus on the holiday?

Anyway, we don’t need to decide anything at all right now as all of this is Count Onc’s plan and we haven’t seen our new London SuperProf yet. Maybe, just maybe, he will suggest something different. One good thing Onc told me about yesterday was a special blood test called Guardant which is sent to the US for complete genomic testing, revealing which treatments will work and which will not. So I was quick to sign up for that of course.

So we are now in limbo with no further treatment in sight just yet, waiting for next week’s London appointment and a definite way ahead. We feel like we have had the stuffing knocked out of us as I am looking and feeling so very well and was hoping that this would translate into more welcome news. On the other hand, it could have been worse: the orignal crook that set this all in action, Mr Bowel Tumour, is chilling where he always was, no change in size. And there is no spread to new areas such as the lymph nodes. So we have a few positives to grasp along with a lot of uncertainty and anxiety about the path ahead. I promise you that the jokes will be back, but maybe not today. For now we need to adjust and rest in the only one who can give true rest.

‘And he said, My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest.’ Exodus 33:14