It has been a while since I last posted. I am glad to note it is because there has been little to report in terms of my condition. Post-operation recovery has progressed well: each day felt better than the last, I was able to get around the house, and around the town, and generally felt OK with how things were going. The surgical wounds looked to be healing as expected, and after a few days of technicolour bruising, and misshapen bloating, my stomach returned to its normal appearance. I had a couple of calls from the colorectal nurse team to check on me, and they seemed pleased that there was nothing to cause them concern.
A couple of days after getting discharged, I got a call from the hospital to advise there was a cancellation for an MRI, and could I come in the next day. The surgeon had requested an inspection of the liver to ascertain secondary spread and see what bits could be hacked away (I had already been put on notice to expect some liver resection, so this didn't come as any surprise.) Like many stages of this journey, an MRI was a new one to me. I shuffled in to the X-ray department, running a bit late for everything, and was called in fairly soon thereafter. After the normal checklists, I was put into scrubs and taken into the room. It was a bit of a hassle to get onto the slab, bending and all that being difficult (as opposed to impossible), and after getting hooked up to the IV drip, I was sent into the tube. Thankfully I am not claustrophobic: I would imagine being so would make an MRI a truly horrific experience. As it was, I spent 45 minutes jammed into the machine, nose almost touching the tube, and listening to the loud whirring etc., and by the end I was glad to get out.
With the MRI done, I was now spinning my wheels for a couple of weeks: the pathology from the tumour was going to take 2-3 weeks, and the MRI itself 2 weeks. As such, I didn't expect anything new to happen until the next meeting with the medical team, maybe the first week in June. The expectation is that I'll either start chemotherapy in July, or I may be sent in for more surgery. I am fine with either path: at this point I need to continue to keep faith in what they decide for the best, and otherwise just keep laughing at cancer's piss-poor attempt to grind me down.
The advice from the medical staff was to take it steady for a couple of weeks, and so I knew I was going to be spending a lot of time kicking my heels about the house, with short walks around town to the shops etc. (not that I was allowed to actually carry anything back of any weight). Thankfully, we had another sequence of visitors to keep me company: my niece came to stay for a few nights, my nephew stayed over a night, a friend came down from Manchester, a friend from Bristol etc. All of them doing their bit to keep my spirits up. During this entire period, my mother-in-law was also staying, taking expert care of me.
By last weekend, I felt confident enough to head out to the first social event post-op. A friend was getting married, and I figured I could chance it for bit. As such, I put proper trousers on for the 1st time in ages, we headed up to a field near Bath (yes, an odd-ball venue for sure). It was nice to get out into the fresh air, and to do something normal for a change. That said, after a couple of hours, I was feeling a bit sore and was ready for home. A couple of days later I then went to a concert with my wife and 2 of our friends. Take That is not my normal choice of live music, but I had bought tickets as a present for our wedding anniversary. I made a call, proved right, that thousands of middle-aged women presented minimal risk of barging and stampeding. It was most definitely not a Who-at-CIncinnati moment.
Generally, it all seems to be going as best as can be hoped, aside from the obvious that is.