Two years ago tomorrow I finished the last of 30 RT sessions. The two intravenous session of chemotherapy had also been completed. It was a hellish time. I could not eat or drink, because swallowing was just too agonisingly painful. The worst memory I have though is of vomiting up buckets of mucus from the burns in my throat. This would happen in unpredictable fashion and it seemed to go on forever.
All memories fade and distort after time. But some aspects remain vivid - the mucus, the scraping pain in the throat when trying to eat something, the black hole of waiting for those scan results three months after treatment. This is the length of time needed for the burns to heal enough to get an accurate scan. Yet some things evoke the memories strongly: certain smells and aromas for example. A few weeks ago I was hunting through photographs on my computer, searching for an image that I had a notion could be useful in a Powerpoint presentation I was preparing, when I stumbled on a photograph of me taken towards the end of the treatment. I am in hospital and I have intravenous feeds in place. I froze before the computer with the shock of the image. Ye Gods, was I really that ill? It is a picture of suffering. And yet, I remember looking at the photo at the time and thinking that I did not look too bad. Because I felt even worse.
And now? It seems incredible that such a thing happened. Yet it did. My jaw cramps up sometimes, I do not have the resilience I had before - fatigue can hit me suddenly and I can only manage a very mild khorma. I have some excess catarrh and pglegm (seems worse in summer). But I work 50-60 hours a week (even if I am knackered at the end of it). I can run half-marathons. The forgetfulness seems to be wearing off slowly. Recently I have been sleeping better than I have done for years. And yes, I am happy.
I am changed mentally too, though this is harder to describe. Am I tougher? In some ways yes, but only because I spend most of my time operating on the assumption that I am going to be OK. The fear of relapse comes sometimes, of course, and that makes me realise that such a thing would be very hard to cope with and might make me realise that I am not tougher after all. I worry about jinxing myself too, by speaking too soon about a return to health. But definitely I am changed by cancer. In many ways for the better, perhaps, though there are certainly less painful ways to learn important truths. Better an open and wise mind than radio- and chemotherapy......
But, overwhelmingly, and cliché though it is, I am simply very happy and content to be alive. Very happy. To anyone reading this who is vomiting up mucus, who can't move their jaw, who can't drink or eat or sleep, who is as constipated as a stuffed donkey (sorry, don't know where that one came from) who is fighting fear and depression, who is struggling to get their health care needs acknowledged - TAKE HEART! There is, indeed, light at the end of the tunnel, though it may be long. There really is. Keep going, one step at a time, stay hopeful, stay open. I have the urge to say "love to you all". That is what we all need (cancer or not) and life is meaningless without it.
I have often wondered when and how and whether to end this cancer blog. This might be it. Yes, love to you all.
