Cool runnings

I've just got back from my first run since May. It was a gruelling 1.25 mile affair around the local football fields. My heart rate, despite the short distance, was about 15 bpm higher than my pre-diagnosis half-marathon efforts. Still, it felt great. I'm typing this now in case my cancer-affected neck and back begin to spasm in the coming hours as a result of this 12-minute jaunt. So far so good....

Those keeping an eye on my chemotherapy cycles may wonder why I'm typing this at all, as my fifth fortnightly cycle was due to start today. True, I turned up at the chemo ward at 9.30am (courtesty of a lift from my fave parents-in-law Jan and Vic) hoping my latest treatment wouldn't take until 5pm as it did two weeks ago. I should be careful what I wish for as today I was out by lunchtime.

Basically, the PICC line (see this previous post for a photo and more details) which lives in my arm and carries the chemo into my blood has been making a slow escape bid in recent weeks. As the nurse changed my PICC dressing this morning, and we chatted about yesterday's Ashes high jinks, I confirmed to her that I thought the line had begun to gradually protrude out of my arm. So, I was sent downstairs for a chest x-ray which showed that the line's end had dislodged from the cavity near my heart and would need to be replaced before chemo could continue. I'm booked in for a PICC re-fit at Derby Hospital on Thursday and my chemo cycle will be bumped a week until next Monday.

As I watched the nurse painlessly pull the line out of my arm like purple silly string, it felt a little depressing. However, by the time we'd negotiated the A38 roadworks and were approaching home, my mind was already racing ahead to how I could fill this unexpected patch of chemo freedom - the first for two months. I'd not always missed my three-times a week morning running routine, but, for some reason, had begun at the weekend to fantasise about pounding the pavements and trails again. So, the first thing I did, after scoffing the packed lunch I'd made for my chemo session (the hospital sandwiches aren't the best), was to get my running kit on.

Actually, that's not true. The first thing I did was to sit on the bed and do a short mindfulness excercise to make sure I wasn't getting carried away. I then did a 15-minute yoga YouTube routine for my neck and lower back to check there was no pain there. Then I went for the run. That's me - spontaneous Pete.

The context of today's events is worth a mention. Last Wednesday, I had my fortnightly oncology appointment where we discussed how everything is going and future treatment plans. It was on the phone this time, and trying to get through everything on my mind with the consultant in a hurried 10-15 minute call is never easy. You may recall that the plan was for me to have six cycles (three months) of chemo followed by a short break for scans and recovery, before another six cycles into the autumn. So, in recent weeks we've been counting down the first six, with today's to be the fifth, with the break due at the end of this month. But on Wednesday the consultant instead suggested I should have my scan at around the time of the sixth cycle and then continue my chemo "straight through" for 12 cycles, or six months.

This threw me as we've been making plans for August, including the best part of a week away in Derbyshire with friends. This is a replacement for a French holiday as a group that we had to cancel due to my treatment. Lisa and myself had been talking only the day before this call about how much we were looking forward to finding out what a period of 'normality', with treatment paused, would feel like in August. Things were left hanging in the air as my oncology call finished, the consultant agreeing that we'd discuss it further at my next face-to-face appointment in a few weeks time.

I know in the grand scheme of things that this isn't the end of the world. The consultant wouldn't recommend I have six months of non-stop chemo if it wasn't best for me. I can still go on holiday even if I'm in the middle of a chemo cycle as the place we're staying is close to the hospital. And we can still do other things. It's just the not knowing, and constant change of plans, that's hard.

This uncertainty, which feels like we're not always in control of our lives, has become a recurring theme on this journey. Learning to hold things loosely is an easy thing to talk about but not always a simple thing to do. Still, it is a good life lesson. As is learning to trust the experts. Honestly, I have found this hard at times, particularly as the medical professionals didn't pick up on my cancer until it was in its advanced stages. But the alternative of not putting my faith in the consultants, registrars and nurses is a downwards spiral of questioning, disbelieving and doubt at a time when I need to be resting, healing and working to reduce the cancerous cells in my body. And, to be fair, the encounters I've had with medical staff and the support they've given me since my diagnosis - at a time when the NHS is under so much pressure - have been really positive.

So, with all of the above fresh in my mind, finding out I've got a bonus week off chemo is something I'm going to welcome with open arms. I'll spend a few days enjoying not having a piece of plastic protruding from my arm (and having to wear a cover over it) for the first time in nine weeks. Moreover, this week is our 27th wedding anniversary (suitable picture of the two of us from Amsterdam in 2020 above) so we'll be able to celebrate it with a proper meal where I can now hopefully taste what I'm eating and not be flagging by 8.45pm. And I might even go for a two-mile run....