After getting the nod to travel, I drove up to that there London on Thursday evening to stay with friends the night before my flight. I also had to give the car back to them, after borrowing it for some 2 months. Not parking it up for 2 weeks, and actually letting them use it, seemed the decent thing to do. We had a thoroughly pleasant night of food and drink and talk, and I was set in the morning for the flight. Thanks to scheduling nonsense, I also had an overnight lay-over between flights, but that meant another enjoyable dinner with another friend. And so, I finally made it, on Saturday afternoon.
First order of business was to see just how excited the dog was to see me after 2.5 months. You have no doubt seen countless YouTube clips of a dog going berserk over the appearance of its service personnel owner after a year away. This is what I was hoping for. Or at least some approximation thereof. Sadly it wasn't to be. Not saying the dog was nonplussed about the whole thing, but she certainly was indifferent. This was rubbed in further when the friend who had been minding her popped over later. She was all over him, tail wagging. We had a party that evening (well, a low-key gathering), so I spent a few hours chilling. The evening proved to be an ideal first night back: easy going at a friend's house, load of friends and neighbours there, and could catch up with as many people as possible in one go. I didn't manage to stay for the duration, putting it down to jet-lag rather than my condition, or amount I had drunk.
On Sunday morning we took the dogs out for a charity beach walk, the 1st time on to the sand for the fosters. The carnage was not as bad as might have been expected, but a moderate level of chaos. Later that afternoon we headed back out to the beach at the end of the road, to have a few sun-downers with friends. Again, just what the doctor, if not the oncologist, had ordered.
Monday morning I was back in the office for the first time since March. Actually felt good to be back: not something I ever thought I would say about work. But there you go, cancer does odd things to one's perspective on life. Life then trundled on for a couple of days: I was taking things steady, not wanting to push anything that would end up with needing to make a swift journey home. By Wednesday I decided to risk "vigorous" exercise for the 1st time since the operation. A short run with the dogs at the crack of dawn, followed by a cycle with my neighbour. Whilst I coped OK with the ride, I was beaten by the time I got home, and crashed out for a couple of hours. Still, I got through.
A few friends couldn't come along at the weekend, or I didn't get to spend too long chatting to them, so I had a couple of lunches planned. Again, excellent to catch up with people, all of whom offered nothing but support for me and my wife. Going into scratched record mode once more, it is impossible to put a value on this.
Even though I had a list of things I needed to get done on this trip (or rather my wife had given me a list of things), the first week or so has been excellent. I wouldn't describe it as escaping the realities of my situation, rather putting them on the back burner for a bit, and instead getting on with enjoying life, enjoying my family and friends, and enjoying finally getting some sun on my face. I know that in just over a week's time, it all gets real again, and I have no idea how things will pan out. So, in the meantime, I'm with Andy Dufresne.