Sun, sea and scan results (and zombies)

And relax...

A strange sense of stillness has descended (internally at least - I type this as Macy and her boyfriend Charlie are gleefully bashing out Jamiroquai and Elton John tunes on the piano next door) for the first time in months this week.

This inner calm is largely due to my latest scan results on Wednesday. These followed my three-monthly routine 'staging' CT scan at Burton hospital last week to monitor my progress, at the end of a six-cycle block of fortnightly chemotherapy.

The smiling oncology doctor told me that the scan result were 'good' and, for the first time since my treatment began, there had been no recorded growth in my cancer whatsoever. In fact, there was a shrinkage in the cancer in my adrenal gland and lymph node while my main rectal tumour and the lesions in my bones remained stable.

I struggled to fully process this on Wednesday as I felt rough after having my Covid booster jab the day before. But it was great to share the news with family and close friends. Now, there's a hard-to-describe physical sensation that my body is at rest (maybe reflecting the mental release that the scan results brought) that I don't think I've experienced before. Of course, the cancer is still living inside me, but the sense of wrestling to keep it under control has stopped, for the time being at least. I'm relieved and thankful for that.

It was doubly good that the scan came in the middle of a break from chemo because, as I mentioned in my last post, it's tempting to think stopping treatment for a few weeks will allow the cancer to grow, which obviously didn't turn out to be the case.

The break allowed Lisa and myself to jet to the Greek island of Crete for a week to celebrate our 50th birthdays. We stayed in a fishing village called Georgioupoli on the north coast and, despite there being storms there while it was 28 degrees back at home, had a lovely, relaxing time. We also took a bus trip to the nearby city of Chania, pictured below, with its attractive old-town restaurants and shops on the harbour-front. It was great to stop and catch up with each other after the mad 12 months we've had. It was also wonderful to take advantage of the half-board food on offer at our hotel and be able to eat and drink whatever I wanted, without having to worry about how it would affect me physically - my body, as always, surprising me with its resilience and adaptability.

As hoped, the chemo break has allowed me to feel more 'normal' again (ie, like I don't have cancer) which was much needed after the build-up of chemo sessions left me pretty done-in before we left. The only ongoing issue is the tingling, or neuropathy, in my fingers, feet and mouth which I can feel as I type this. Because of it, I'm more likely to drop things including a cup of tea I just spilt all over me!

My butter-fingers also caused a snigger-out-loud moment on the flight home from Crete when I was trying to dispose of two empty small plastic wine bottles as the attendant passed with a rubbish bag. The bottles shot out of my tingly hands and one landed on the foot of a man across the plane's aisle. The attendant (who I had also accidentally elbowed as she rushed by earlier) wasn't amused. Thankfully, the man was fast asleep (it was about midnight) so he sat with our wine bottle leaning against his left trainer for quite a long time.

Talking about laughter, three days after we returned home I went to see comedian Miles Jupp at the Garrick Theatre in Lichfield, courtesy of friend Neil, of hospital sign-altering fame. Jupp's sold-out show was based around his experience of discovering a tumour on his brain a few years ago, which thankfully turned out to be benign. He was both funny and empathic - two things that don't always go together - and I enjoyed the evening at a deeper level than a normal Friday night out.

As happens every few months, Lisa recently helped Reuben sort his clothes out to make room for new, bigger garments to match his rapidly-expanding 16-year-old frame. They came across a t-shirt Reuben made some time ago at a church youth weekend away. He was ploughing through zombie TV drama 'The Walking Dead' at the time and emblazoned the show's logo on the back of the t-shirt, pictured below. I often use the boys' discarded shirts to sleep in but Lisa and Reuben hesitated before donating the top to me - is it too insensitive for me to bear a zombie logo while living with an incurable disease? Still, it came my way and I wore it around the house for the first time this week. Maybe it's a sign that we're coming to terms with my cancer as a family, and that laughter really can be the best medicine.

So, chemo is set to resume on Tuesday after the Bank Holiday, beginning my next block of treatment that will take me through the summer. I know there will be twists and turns, side affects and slumps, and maybe unexpected chemo delays, over the next three months. But I can (hopefully) cope with these better knowing that the treatment is doing its job.

As with my previous post, here's another photo finish - a Smiling Sunbeam bird in the High Andes snapped last week by my friend Mike who is traveling in Columbia with his wife Helen. What an amazing creature, and picture. You can see more of Mike's wildlife photos on his blog.