Good news week

I can't believe it's been almost three weeks since my last post. The truth is after the initial new-ness of my diagnosis, treatment and life-in-general turning upside down, things have become a bit more mundane and, I guess, 'normal', which makes it hard to think of new and inspirational blog post topics ;)

So it's with a lighter than usual heart that I report what feels like the first significant piece of genuinely good medical news following my April diagnosis. On Wednesday, we met the consultant oncologist to discuss the results of my first 'staging' scan since I started chemotherapy just over three months ago. I had the CT scan the Friday before at Burton Hospital, so the turnaround in results was thankfully quick.

As we walked into the oncologist's room, the first thing she did was joke that she needed to tell us something positive, because she'd heard from people reading my blog that she always gave us bad news! Thankfully, she delivered on this. We learnt that the chemo is working and that the cancer is under control and, in some areas, shrinking. The Cetuximab and injections are also strengthening my bones as they should.

Lisa and myself were obviously both hoping this would be the case. But we couldn't dare to believe it beforehand due to the gut-punching surprises we'd been hit with in previous similar meetings. The good news confirmed what I'd physically sensed in my body in recent weeks, with my bowels in particular having settled down, and the pain in my neck and back almost totally disappearing.

The oncologist also said that they need to keep an eye on one of my adrenal glands, which sit on top of the kidneys, as there is a nodule there, which could be something or nothing. This was a reminder that my cancer will always seek new ways to spread, however effective the treatment. But it didn't overshadow the positive news.

This meant I've been given the go ahead to carry on with another three months (six cycles) of chemo, on the same drugs, which will start on Monday. I will get a bonus free week at the end of August to sync up my fortnightly chemo and monthly bone-strengthening injections, which currently fall on different weeks. This also allows us to hopefully spend a day at Moseley Folk Festival in Brum to watch one of my favourite US bands Wilco, plus the always mighty Proclaimers who we last saw play at an Irish pub in Chicago with my sister and brother-in-law 19 years ago.

Understandably, the appointment felt lighter than any before it but I was pretty numb as we walked back to the disabled space where our car was parked (yes, I now have blue disabled badge which, despite my slightly wounded pride, I'm starting to see the benefits of). Lisa felt the relief straight away and cried and hugged me tightly in the car. It's now no longer a shock that Lisa intuits such emotions - good and bad - ahead of me. Although I did shed some tears of relief as I sat alone in Atlow's village church that afternoon (see below), it's only today, three days later, that it's all started to sink in - specifically as I drove to pick Macy up from work and saw rolled bales of hay in yellow fields. At that moment, all felt well with the world.

It also cemented in a way I hadn't grasped fully before that my future timeline will be measured out in three-month treatment cycles, with potential short breaks in between. The cycles could stretch on for months and then years depending on how my body responds. There's no way of predicting. This feels a bit stark, but it also clarifies how things will be and, with the knowledge that chemo is working, gives me a fresh sense of purpose, focus, and - dare I say it - an inkling of hope.

We left the hospital and drove the 40-minutes back to the tiny village of Atlow, near Ashbourne, where we were spending five days on holiday with friends. There were 21 of us (pictured above, with our shoe pile below) from four families - ours, the Cottons, Findlays and Dodds - staying in a big house up a single-track lane. We've been away as a group several times before over the past decade or so, often to France where we were due to go this year until one of us (!) got ill. This sense of normality, even though we were only an hour (rather than a two-day drive) from home, was a wonderful soul tonic. The sun shone and we visited picturesque towns such as Bakewell and Matlock Bath, played games (including a fantastic homemade murder mystery that lasted the whole week), ate and drank and stayed up late, although I was always the first to bed!

Perhaps the best part was seeing our kids, and their partners, enjoying each other's company across their age differences as well as interacting with us adults. I was exhausted by the end of it, but am so thankful for the time we had together - a slice of summer escape that was much needed.

Despite my knackeredness, I was determined to get up this morning and do my first Parkrun since chemo started. The occasion was my friend Adrian's 100th Parkrun which he completed at Beacon Park in Lichfield, with around a dozen of us on hand to support him. The last time I did a Parkrun there, last November, it was my second fastest ever, in just under 23 minutes. Today, the 5km route took me almost seven minutes longer, and my heart rate was a lot higher. But I did it, despite sore big toes which have turned red around the nails due to the chemo, and my gasping for breath. Crossing the line, just behind Adrian who kindly hung back for me, felt great. Maybe, when I was chasing a PB in the past I'd not properly appreciated the joy of simply completing the course.

Suffice to say, I needed a nap this afternoon. There's been a lot to take in and there's still a lot for us to face, but this week has been a turn in the right direction. And I am grateful for that.