‘Delight thyself also in the Lord: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass.’ Psalm 37:4-5

So. Much. Joy. From the Jellett wedding do at the wonderful Lighthouse in Milford-on-Sea, to the Bournemouth Airshow and a multitude of frolics on the beach, last week was an incredible end to a very special summer.

It has always been hard to leave Cloud 9, even before all this started… It’s the same every time: once we are all packed and ready to go, Steve and I stand looking out over the balcony to the sea, the Purbeck hills, Old Harry Rocks, squeeze hands and have a quick hug. Then we leave any pangs of sadness and longing behind as we head off back to reality.

I didn’t manage this quite so well this time- unsurprising given the week we’d enjoyed and what was awaiting us in Hertfordshire- and actually sobbed a lot of the way home. My heart felt as if it had been ripped into a thousand pieces. Not for Dorset, not for the place, but for what it means to us: the feeling of swimming in the sea every day, gently sailing over the top of the waves; the feel of the sand under our feet; the fun of hiding in the dunes and sliding down to the beach below; the exhilaration of standing on Hengistbury Head with its 360 degree views and feeling like you are on top of the whole world. And the people here, which include both sets of our parents, Isaac’s special musical family PYSM, and most importantly of all, our church.

But there are pulls in the other direction, of course, and just as big. Our girls. Their partners. Gorgeous, wonderful little Jasper… (I would have mentioned the Hertfordshire countryside, which is lovely, but we really have exhausted it after 30 years!!). And of course it’s hardly fair to blame Herts for being base camp for all the difficult things: chemo, crash, scan, results…

As the journey progressed, however, I was gradually given a calm acceptance of everything. Someone wise once said ‘Where you are now is exactly where God wants you to be’. My heart (just about) comes back together again. We will not feel torn, or antagonise over anything. Everything will become perfectly clear.

As soon as we arrived back home at 10 pm, the military operation of unpacking from Dorset and packing for the next day’s chemo began. I don’t take the laptop to the hospital any more: Irene has begun to demand more of my attention than that, gifting me nausea and tummy pains with each infusion. I indulge the diva. She has been good to me.

My phone, headphones and a good book are enough to occupy me for the day; aside from those, I need to pack numbing cream and dressing to apply to my port on the train (the insertion of the needle without it is agony), the little shoulder bag for my pump, slippers and a few little treats such as dark chocolate or Polo mints.

Everything goes ok…thankfully my nurse for the day is Ken, the hilarious, camp, Filippino one who always makes me laugh as he skips around the ward. If it had been one of the super-sweet and sympathetic lady nurses I think I would have ended up crying on their shoulder…

Today feels strange as it’s the last scheduled chemo session: the diary in a couple of weeks’ time is eerily empty. We can’t make a single plan, or talk of things to look forward to, but that’s ok. Now is enough.

I was delighted to walk the 5K in total to and from Harley Street; most people would consider a taxi the most sensible option after a day of multiple poison infusions but for me the walk is a literal breath of fresh air (well, fairly fresh, it is London after all). Join me on my favourite part of the commute:

I was floored when the train pulled into Knebworth and glad as always that our front door is a short stagger from the station… What I really wanted to do upon arriving home was to sink into the sofa, but Steve had been working all day whilst Isaac occupied himself with holiday homework…I somehow found the energy to chat with them whilst busying around sorting the fall-out from the day- a muddle of breakfast, lunch, washing… as any Mum would do.

Weds 4th September- the final day of the holidays. There was more homework to finish off, but amidst this Isaac and I had A Mission. We needed to record my GCSE flute piece before the chaos of the new term began. We had been having fun with it on and off all summer, laughing at how ridiculously long it was and not actually that easy to play… we didn’t intend to master it, but rather to bring it back to life and share the melodies that filled my head at the age of 14 and which have never really left me.

I have no idea how I had such an understanding of musical form and harmony after only a couple of years of learning, but I do remember the music just pouring out of me with very little effort- all 200 bars of it…

Here, then, is Waltz and Serenade in F Major by Samantha Maltby, 1989, resurrected in 2024 by Isaac and Sam (high on steroids, with neuropathic fingers and attached to a chemo pump…). It’s so flipin’ long that I’ve had to post the video in 2 halves…

Music recorded and homework just about finished, we treated ourselves to a takeaway dinner and then snuggled up on the sofa to go through Isaac’s school report, praising him for everything that he achieved last year and the lovely comments about his personality whilst highlighting some goals to focus on for the coming year.

‘You never know, you might get to see Isaac start Year 7,’ Steve had said to me many months ago. I found it hard to imagine at the time, but in the goodness of God there I was on the first day of term taking pictures of Isaac at the front door and driving him to school.

I’m sure I’m not the only Mum who experiences a phenomenom that I call ‘Back to School Nesting Instinct’: in which the entire house must be cleared of the holiday detritus in a single day. Fuelled by steroids, I went one step further and sorted out cupboards, relegating the contents to either bin, charity shop or Facebook marketplace… It felt good, and took my mind off the next day, Scan Friday.

Scan aside, the day was fully occupied with medical baggage: a visit to the GP surgery to chase repeat prescriptions and try to book flu jab (‘End of October ok?’… the receptionist may as well have offered the year 2030… ‘Sorry, not able to plan that far ahead.. and what if that was a chemo week? Could I still have the jab? No idea? Ok no worries. Walk-in clinic sounds best..’). More chasing followed at home, namely a third attempt to contact Prof Murphy’s secretary to see if it was ok for the scans and referral letter to arrive only in the nick of time for our scheduled meeting next Friday or if he needed them earlier. Upon enquiring with my Stage 4 Forum friends I was reassured that the secretary had been away for 2 weeks and was now starting to contact people. Those that replied to me were all seeing Prof M this week or next.. his patient list must be comprised of half the forum members…

And then it was time for the cute little photo shoot itself, aka CAP (chest-abdo-pelvis) CT scan. There really is nothing to it, if you discount the bulky cannula that has to go in your arm to dispense the contrast dye… this bad boy fancies itself as a bit of a practical joker, its one-trick wonder being the ability to make you feel exactly as if you have wet yourself as it courses through your body. It’s impressively realistic.

As I drove away from the hospital a cheery voice suddenly filled the car: it was none other than Prof Murphy’s secretary calling, proving my forum friends right. Yes, Prof Murphy did want all the information in good time, in order to discuss my case in his MDT on 16 Sept, and thus my consultation with him has been changed to 19th. We are happy about that. It gives some breathing space to process the scan results and proposed way forward from SuperProf next Thursday, and then it will be invaluable to have Prof Murphy and his team of top specialists in each area go over the scan just so we have every possible piece of information at this point, and will know we have done all we could.

No rest for the unwell… a quick bite of lunch, and it was time for more torture in the form of acupuncture. Those who claim that it is painless have obviously not had needles stabbed in the webbing of their hands and feet… Later in the day Steve was obliged to add his personal contribution to my woes by giving me the injection to boost my white blood cells- he is usually very adept at this but somehow something went wrong: his selected site for the jab was unfortunately lacking in flesh and I was practically screaming- heck, I almost SWORE. Almost…. Steve was as traumatised as me and declared that next time it’s going in my butt. Yay.

Quite a Friday… but amidst the whirl of emotions, pain and trauma there was also so much peace, calmness, joy and laughter. How? The verses on the lovely pictures below are how.

This brings us to today, which started off well with us all enjoying the Saturday Park Run – a power walk for Steve and I and personal best times for Isaac, Ariane and Dan.

Just a few hours later it was a somewhat different story; there’s no resisting the crash when it hits…

I’ve been feeling rubbish ever since, but it will pass. There is still joy in each moment and I couldn’t be more aware of the love of family, friends and the Lord God, who does all things well and who will carry us through these times to come.

‘Whate’er my God ordains is right: his holy will abideth; I will be still, whate’er he doth, and follow where he guideth. He is my God; though dark my road, he holds me that I shall not fall: wherefore to him I leave it all.’ Samuel Rodigast