I've been off chemo for over three months now - by far my longest treatment break.
Some days I feel like a ship unmoored and adrift in a sea of uncertain plans and an empty diary, bobbing along unsure of where this is leading. But a lot of the time I just feel normal, and, after 12 months of feeling everything but normal, that is great.
I ran 11 miles yesterday morning (and I'm certainly feeling it today!). My phone recently reminded me that last August I'd struggled to manage a two-mile jog, my heart rate rocketing as I ventured out after my first three-month block of chemotherapy.
I didn't think I'd ever get back to this place, which sort of happened by accident when my most recent bout of chemo was cut short because I was losing feeling in my hands and feet. This led to me talking about clinical trial possibilities with the cancer-specialist Royal Marsden and Christie hospitals, in London and Manchester respectively. But fresh scans showed my cancer was not growing, despite me being off chemo, so the trials aren't an option for now.
A couple of weeks ago, I spoke to one of the Christie doctors who asked me whether I'd considered 'saving' further conventional chemo treatment until my cancer began to grow again. I'm seeing my consultant at Burton hospital this week to talk this through. Obviously, there are risks in continuing without chemo but also, as we've discovered, opportunities to 'live' again in the broadest sense when not debilitated by cancer drugs.
These opportunities included a lovely low-key family week away at a friends' holiday home, which they generously offered us the use of, near Dolgellau on the Welsh coast. The weather wasn't great but the company was, as we walked, ate pub food, got windswept on Fairbourne and Barmouth beaches, and played card games into the early hours. The old farmer's cottage we stayed in was at the foot of Cader Idris, the surroundings quiet and idyllic with more sheep using the narrow lane outside our window than cars.
On one of the clear mornings, some of us climbed Cader Idris (pictured above); Macy's boyfriend Charlie and Rosie's boyfriend Nick taking a freezing dip in a mountain lake. There's no way I could've managed that hike last summer, which made it even sweeter.
We've also celebrated Lisa's 50th birthday (below), Rosie's 23rd and Reuben's GCSE results since my last post. And last weekend, Lisa and myself got away for a Mystery Picnic (originally planned for last year), and overnight stay in Stratford-upon-Avon.
After breakfast at our hotel in nearby Bidford-on-Avon, we found ourselves reflecting on the past 12 months. Since my diagnosis in Easter 2023, a lot of life has felt like just 'getting through', unsure of what the next day or week will hold, while trying to come to terms with Stage 4 cancer and its different affect on each family member. It has, to put it mildly, not always been easy.
These last few chemo-free months have at times been hard as well. Suddenly, I have a brief oasis of freedom and feel the urgency to make every second count. This can be testing for Lisa as my newfound, sometimes unrealistic, enthusiasm has to be tempered by the down-to-earth demands of her full-time job and the more mundane needs of daily family life. This is a fresh tension for us and it's taken some negotiating, and some grace, to work through.
But it's also a good problem to have. We both see the opportunity to live more positively and intentionally - while not putting undue pressure on ourselves. I'm never sure if 'normality' for me is when I'm off, or on, treatment. Either way, even if I restart chemo in the coming weeks, I am so thankful to have experienced this unexpected return to feeling physically well, and the emotional and mental boost that can come accompany it.
I keep remembering the famous line from 'The Shawshank Redemption' where Tim Robbins' character Andy Dufresne says to Red, played by Morgan Freeman: "I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living, or get busy dying."
Maybe things aren't always that binary, but opportunities for life are everywhere to be grasped - even, maybe more so, in the face of death.
And while I'm feeling physically ok, I've signed up to the Race for Refugees 2024. My aim is to run 50 miles during September for Refugee Action. You can find out more and sponsor me on my JustGiving page.
When so much of the past year has, by necessity, focused on my treatment, it's great to have the energy, for now at least, to invest in things that bring life outside of cancer.