I did start writing a post the other day, but never got around to finishing it. So, I scrapped that one and waited until the next cycle was complete. Since the last post, earlier this month I have popped over Dublin for a week of work. Like last time, it was good for the soul to actually be getting stuff done, and taking my mind off my condition. Not that it ever gets far away: in the words of Hal David, there is always something there to remind me. Unlike last time, there was a full contingent in the office this visit (summer holidays having long since passed), and was good to catch up with everyone.
The trip also afforded a chance to see Squeeze live for the 1st time. Cool For Cats was one of the first albums I owned, and I played it to death. They were superb, and played a greatest hits set-list that most bands would be chuffed to own. One thing I never previously realised was, notwithstanding what a great lyricist he is, Chris Difford has a shocking voice. There is hope for me yet.
I travelled over to Dublin after cycle 7 had finished. It passed uneventfully, which was a blessing after the catastrophe of cycle 6. This time I checked, rechecked and double checked the clip on the IV line every few hours. There was no way I was going to extend the time I was hooked up.
After Dublin, I had a couple of days of work before heading back to the hospital for the bloodwork/assessment for cycle 8. I had been sensible on the food and drink front, and was pleased to find my liver marker had reverted to normal, and so I was given the nod for the full dosage level. Additionally, my CEA marker had fallen slightly again. The cancer is still there, but the direction of change being downwards is good news, and allowing for a number of caveats, is an indicator that the chemo is doing something worthwhile.
I celebrated that evening at City v Charlton, an enjoyable match, combining a niggly game, under floodlights, with a late, later winner after coming from a goal down, and a man sent off. The next day I was back to Heathrow to collect my wife, and then we made a diversion to Gatwick to have a lunch with our niece, who was in visiting friends in London for the weekend. The journey back was horrendous, the stand-out being rain-soaked gridlock on the M25, but we made it back.
The next day was back to the hospital for the 8th cycle of chemo, the last of this set. Nothing of note to report from this one. It is all getting to be old hat, which is no bad thing. My sleep was messed up (and still is, to be honest), due to the steroids, but that is no surprise. Disconnection day soon came around, and once the nurses had found the required blood thinner, and someone had printed off, and read, the disconnection notes, we were off to the races. And with that, this set of chemo treatments was done.
Today was the end of session CT scan. That was no hassle, and now I am waiting for next week's meeting with the oncologist, to get the scan results and find out what happens next. Someone asked me if I was worried about getting the results. The answer is no, not really. If I have learned anything these past months since it all broke in March, is that there is no point spending time worrying about stuff out of your control. Sure, I hope it is good news, but hoping isn't going to change the outcome. I might as well get on with doing the things I need/want to do, and whatever will be, will be regarding the scan. That is not to say I won't celebrate good news, or being seriously cut-up with bad news, rather I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.
And so now I just play the waiting game again.