Set 2, 5 down 1 to go

This week was a particularly tough week, even by the standards set in the past year and a bit. Sure, it ended well, but there was a deep trough in the middle of it.

Before bloodwork Monday, the biggest issue we were dealing with was the possibility that our 2 dogs might be on a BA relief flight into London, giving us a chance to be reunited with them after a month or more. The 3rd one (that we are fostering) was still waiting on the necessary rabies shot, but friends of friends are minding her, so we know she is fine. By the weekend, the next step was getting exit medicals done by the vet on Monday, and we hoped that would all go to plan. Monday came and went, blood work all OK, and we got word that the dogs had both been given a clean bill of health, and a friend was scurrying all over the island to get payment made and the necessary forms stamped. It was looking good for them to fly on Wednesday.

And so to Wednesday. My pre-assessment call with the oncologist was due mid-morning. She called up, exchanged some pleasant chit-chat (she is a lovely woman, always trying to sound positive, and I have a lot of time for her and what she does for me), and then slipped in "well, your blood work is all good apart from one thing." I knew straight away what it was going to be, and my heart sank. All the liver and immunity markers were looking good, but the she dropped the bombshell that my CEA marker had risen again. Regular readers will know that this is a broad cancer tracker, and direction of change is arguably more important than absolute values. To hear it had gone up for the 2nd blood work running was tough to hear, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't really pay attention to much she said for the rest of the call, save for her confirmation that chemo would go ahead as planned on Friday, with the same dosage as last time out.

Generally after the pre-assessment call I will update family and friends as to the latest news. This time was different, in tears I summarised the call to my wife, spoke to my sister, and sent a note to my boss, and left it there. I know that any replies would only be supportive, but I really couldn't face speaking to anyone at that point. My wife asked if I was OK, my reply was "yeah", she followed up with are you sure, to which I replied "no, not really." We had a meltdown, and I spent the rest of the day in a daze. It was the first time for some months that I had reason to consider my mortality, and it is pretty unpleasant feeling. That evening a friend messaged to ask how it had gone (he is a person who normally would have been on my update routine), noting that my silence had him worried, but he wanted to ask. I updated him, and I think he spent the rest of the night googling CEA information. I told him that my reluctance to speak to people that day didn't mean I had any issue with him getting in touch with me. Still, later that evening, we got confirmation that our dogs had made it onto the flight, and would be arriving the next morning. Surely nothing could go wrong there. I spent the last hours of the day tracking the departure and we went to bed full of optimism the dogs would be at ours by Thursday evening.

When I woke Thursday morning, I attempted to dig myself out of the hole I had placed myself in the previous day. It is laughable to think my mood swings can be turned on and off like a tap, but I do endeavour to stay out of the darkness as much as I can. I am not one to wallow, however I had given myself Wednesday to feel sorry for myself, knowing that by Thursday I had to get back on track. We checked the flight info late morning, and within a few hours had word from the receiving agent at Heathrow that the dogs were under the care of the duty vet, and paperwork was being processed to clear them for release. There were a couple of requests for additional paperwork, that we were able to obtain from the overseas vet, and by mid afternoon, my wife and MIL were on the road, London-bound. All good.

About an hour after their departure, I took a call from the receiving agent that the vet had identified several errors and discrepancies on the exit medical paperwork, and there was no way the dogs were being released to us that day. For the 2nd day running, it felt like being kicked in the balls by someone wearing size 12 steel toe-capped boots. I called my wife and they turned around. As might be imagined there was an air of depression for the rest of the day, and we worked with friends on the ground to get whatever correcting paperwork we could. By bedtime we had emailed off as much as we could possibly collate, and just had to hope.

Friday morning was treatment day back in the day unit and would, under current lockdown rules, mean that I would join the chatroom of my support group. With the CEA issue, and the dogs being cooped up in the quarantine pound, both front and centre of my mind, I didn't really feel up for talking, and skipped the group. Treatment itself was without incident, the only problem being updates from my wife about the dogs, advising that it might be Monday or Tuesday before we could hope to see them. The delays would give rise to additional costs, but I didn't really care about that, we were more concerned about the undue stress the dogs were being put through, after the disruption of a 12 hour flight and being surrounded by strangers. I got home from chemo, still no good news re the dogs, and crashed out.

Mid afternoon my wife noticed a missed call from the agent: she called him back, and as such burst into tears on the phone and gave me the thumbs up, I guessed that it was good news. The guy had moved heaven and earth on our behalf with the vets, and the dogs were free to be collected. My wife and MIL headed back out again, and this time it was a success story. Later that evening, the dogs were at ours, and the house felt full of joy.

Being one of the designated 1.5 million people needing extreme shielding from Covid-19, I have been advised to not leave the house for at least 12 weeks. However, with the need to exercise 2 energetic dogs of 3 years and 6 months respectively, we have decided to take a pragmatic approach, and on the basis we can escape to open fields a short walk from the house, we will walk them and be sensible, swerving all other human contact at distance. Indeed on Monday we took them for a 3 hour trek through the fields, letting them run free and get spooked by cows. It was great stuff.

Various friends and others stepped up to the plate with the dogs, and whilst we thank everyone involved, we can't ever thank one friend enough for all that she did, or another for providing a safe foster home for as long as we needed. And our contact at the receiving agent discharged his role with a professionalism, and humanity, that was amazing. As always, the actions of others helping us will never be taken for granted, and we remain humbled.