Thursday was supposed to be D-Day, or decision day. But it didn’t turn out that way as will become clear in a few minutes. It was the day I would see Mr. S, the consultant surgeon, to find out how effective my treatment had been, results of scans, blood tests etc. As I said to my kids, who were the first people I phoned after my appointment, it wasn’t about good news and bad news, more about positive and negatives. I think I prefer to look at it that way. The worst kept secret is, at last, out. I am now officially a stage IV cancer sufferer, or to put it another way, the cancer has spread to my liver. Previous diagnosis had staged my cancer as stage III or IV i.e. there was some doubt as to whether the cancer had spread. We can now confirm it has. Recent scans have confirmed the presence of a small tumour on my liver.  That’s the negative part. On the positive side, it’s a small single tumour and is not attached to any major blood vessels, and as a result it is operable. The liver specialist believes he can deal with it by liver resection, or to put it another way, he can cut it out. Mr. S is now waiting to hear from the liver surgeon to see if they can operate at the same time. Another positive, both operations can be done using laparoscopic (keyhole) surgery. Between them they might decide it’s best for me to recover from one surgery before embarking on the other, although I have to admit, it would be nice to get them over at the same time. However, I’ll have to leave that decision to them.

So that’s the secondary tumour. The primary one, in my bowel, has been reduced in size by 50% thanks to the radiotherapy. I had hoped that it might have disappeared altogether, but I guess that was hoping for a little too much in the circumstances. Mr. S is happy with the reduction, and, another positive, he is confident that the planned ileostomy will be reversible at some point in the future. Effectively the two ends will be joined up again once the bowel has recovered from surgery. However ! The recent PET CT scan has highlighted another area in the bowel, this time higher up in the transverse colon, that is raising some concern. The scan is designed to show areas of abnormal blood supply or ’hot spots’ , and so I will be undergoing a further colonoscopy to investigate this further. It doesn’t mean there is another tumour, or even that the area is cancerous but it needs investigating before surgery can proceed. The original colonoscopy I had was unable to get past the primary tumour, and so I’ll be going through the procedure again so they can have a good look round. It may be that these ’hot spots’ are just polyps (pre-cancerous growths) in which case they can be removed during the procedure, or further biopsies taken. Either way, the colonoscopy should provide answers.

It’s more than likely, due to the spread of cancer to my liver, and the probability that this was through my lymphatic system, that I will require some kind of further treatment after surgery. Maybe more intensive chemotherapy, biological therapy or some other form of therapy. There are many new treatments available, particularly for treating metastatic bowel cancer (secondary bowel cancer that happens to be in the liver, i.e. this is NOT cancer of the liver), but the decision on this will not be taken until after surgery when a full histopathology examination of the tissue can be undertaken. All in all, a very informative morning. Certainly a lot of information to take in, but I think I’ve got my head round it. I was quite prepared for the news on my liver to be worse than it actually was. That may sound strange, but metastatic tumours on the liver are quite often in clusters, and can also be inoperable due to their attachment or closeness to major blood vessels. So I have good reason to be positive about the outcome. Still a lot of decisions to be made, but I’m looking at all the positives that came out of today’s meeting, rather than just concentrating on the negative aspect of the unwelcome spread of the cancer. I’m grateful to both Mr. S and colorectal nurse specialist Becky who took the time to explain everything to me in detail, and ensure that my many questions were answered before I left the hospital. I never expected this to be easy, and although the goal posts have moved slightly, I’m still in a kicking mood and have been practicing both long and close range shots.

I had expected that surgery would have been completed before I saw the first shoots from the bulbs I planted last year. I hadn’t taken into account the unreasonably mild final 3 months of last year, nor the delays in progress of my treatment. Regular readers will know that I was a little concerned that recent snow had thwarted my attempts to produce colour in my garden. I needn’t have worried. Most of my garden was covered with tarpaulin during the recent snow, but one section I was unable to protect, and so has been under 4-5 inches of snow/ice up until the thaw earlier this week. It’s reassuring to know that mother nature shines through even under the most adverse  conditions. I’ll be taking great inspiration from that tiny flower, together we’ll grown strong and be blooming again by the time summer comes. The first shoots of recovery.

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If you have any concerns about bowel cancer, or just want more information or check cancer rates in your area you can find all the information advice and help you need here. www.beatingbowelcancer.org

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For the record, the second part of deleted blog entry continued as follows….

On a more cheerful note, even if only slightly more cheerful, my MRI scan proceeded as planned. It took rather longer than I was expecting, and required a bit more of my participation that I am used to. All in all it took about and hour and a half by the time I was ready to leave. The scan, or series of scans, required lots of periods of me holding my breath, from anything between 10 – 15 seconds. By the time you have done this a dozen times, 15 seconds seems like an eternity. All the instructions were given via headphones, you’re alone in the scanner, and the contrast dye was administered by machine. Not had this contrast before, and it was certainly strange, and a little uncomfortable when it was pumped into my body via the cannula in my arm. After one series of breath holding the next instructions came over the headphones to me…

‘the next part will take about 5 minutes’

Blimey, they don’t expect me to hold my breath for 5 minutes do they? Thankfully not, the next part of the scan would take 5 minutes, and I could breath normally. Phew !

During a short break in the middle of the scans, whilst the contrast dye was making it’s way to my liver, I enquired as to whether the scan had been marked as ‘urgent’?

A silence followed…

I added that I had an appointment with the specialist on Thursday, and wondered whether the results would be ready by then? They’re always careful not to give too much information away, but eventually the reply was ’yes’ the results would be ready either Tuesday or Wednesday. I think that answered my urgency question.

The letter duly arrived on Wednesday, a bit more detail. MRI Liver with hepatobiliary contrast – Gulp ! I didn’t realise it was going to be that specific, thought it was just another look at my colon. Well I guess the ‘lesions’ on my liver have turned out to be something more than just lesions, or at least raised enough suspicion for more investigation. Out of all the things that went through my head on Monday, liver was not one of them. It’s going to be a while before I get the results from this new scan, and so I’ll keep the newly mended glass topped up, and make sure those cracks are holding.

Thursday was a day I will cherish for a long time, despite my protestations and attempts at postponing such a meeting, my baby sister made the flight across the Irish sea to meet me. She had flown into Birmingham, stayed at my eldest sister Pat’s house Wednesday night, and they both made the journey up to Manchester on Thursday. We hugged, we laughed, we took the piss out of each other, we looked at old photographs, and I tried to stop her pilfering things from my house. Spare a though for the ever suffering Clive who, as usual made this possible by acting as chauffeur. As we were leaving the house for lunch, I spotted the postman turning the corner, I saw the brown envelope in his hand, I could almost see ‘The Christie’ postmark. Pat jumped out of the car, collected my post, and I opened the letter confirming my date with my surgeon on Thursday next week. I’ll be getting some answers to the ever lengthening list of questions I have.  We continued to lunch, The Church Inn, Uppermill. There are few more scenic settings for a pub lunch, although sadly on this occasion we were nestled in the clouds, denied the spectacular views downwards towards the village, or upwards towards the local landmark, Pots & Pans, high above the Dovestones reservoirs. Lunch was gigantic, conversation was hilarious, and for a couple of hours there was no time to worry about anything other than who was getting the next round.

We returned home, I’m sure far later than Clive would have wished, bearing in mind the impending journey down the M6 to Birmingham, especially with my little sister nagging and moaning in the back seat. Silly photographs, more pilfering and more hugs and it was over. It was great to see little sister looking so well just 18 months after her own cancer nightmare. If I can stay as positive as her, half my battle is won. Lovely to see you Lizzy, and thanks for the lighter .

It really couldn’t have been a happier day, not even concerned at the lack of internet access whilst we were at lunch. When everyone had left, and the laughter was over, I logged on. The message I received was unexpected, my reaction to the message was equally unexpected. There is an anonymous, yet close, online community of bowel cancer victims. We exchange messages, swap experiences and support each other where we can. There is no better advice than from someone who has already been through the experience you are facing. None of us really know each other, yet we share experiences that no-one else could ever understand. We can talk about things that even the closest of friends wouldn’t dream of. Thoughts and fears that are embedded deep in your head, can be read, comfort and advice is returned with such sincerity that its only found in the closest of relationships. Lisa was one of those anonymous people. Despite being in the final stages of terminal bowel cancer, it was rare that you heard of her ordeal, but she would be the first to offer support to those of us trying to find our way through the early stages of the disease. She was always thinking of others, and if you did hear of her personal life, it was her concern for her two teenage children. The message I received when I logged on, was to advise me of Lisa’s passing away the night before. I couldn’t believe it, it had been a happy day. Lisa had been tweeting just a few nights before. I logged onto her blog, the blog I had read from start to finish, the blog that I had gained so much strength from. She had sent me messages when I had appeared down. Encouraged me when treatment was rough. Inspired me when I was seeking direction. The final entry on Lisa’s blog confirmed what I had been told in the earlier message. I cried for someone I didn’t know, yet I cried for someone who knew me so well. You know the fight is over when the blogging ends. RIP Lisa xxx

Below is the final entry in Lisa’s blog.

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Thursday, 9 February 2012

To all friends and family

Sadly, Mum passed away last night. She was at peace and we were with her. Thank you all for supporting her,

Karys & Phoenix

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If you have any concerns about bowel cancer, or just want more information or check cancer rates in your area you can find all the information advice and help you need here. www.beatingbowelcancer.org

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In the overall scope of things, I can take a few bangs to my head. I have news from the hospital, and however optimistically I look at it, quite honestly, it could have been better.  Ideally I was hoping for a date for surgery, whereas I have been called back for yet further scans and tests. The MDT meeting took place Monday morning, where the results of my recent scans were discussed. The surgeons secretary telephoned me in the afternoon to advise me that a further MRI scan had been requested, yet another colonoscopy, and further blood tests to check the level of my cancer markers. I’ll be seeing the surgeon shortly, where I should get an explanation as to what’s going on, but reading between the lines, these additional tests would not have been requested if there was not further areas of concern. The secretary, obviously, would not comment when asked for the reason, but I’m guessing that recent scans have shown something that requires further investigation.

All the above is of course pure speculation on my part. On the one hand I’m glad that I haven’t been kept waiting for the results for too long, on the other, I wish it had been more positive news when I got it (even though I don‘t really know what the news is). I had prepared myself for all outcomes, and so took the news with some degree of calmness, although with a tinge of disappointment. It is perhaps harder passing on the news to loved one’s, who had been expecting a more favourable outcome. I could be completely wrong, these could just be more routine tests, just to be sure. But, it is what it is, and I will continue to put my faith in the medical team looking after me. I’ve said it before, and it certainly won’t be the last time, I could not wish to be treated at a better place than The Christie. This is all about belief. A belief that they know what they’re doing, and a belief that together we’re going to beat this bloody cancer.

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If you have any concerns about bowel cancer, or just want more information or check cancer rates in your area you can find all the information advice and help you need here. www.beatingbowelcancer.org

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Most of the roads across the top of Saddleworth Moor have, unsurprisingly,  been closed and so this morning, with two pairs of thermals, trousers, waterproofs, 2 t-shirts, jumper, overcoat and wellies, I returned to the scene of summer photographs. I think the winter wear was a bit excessive, as I returned home sweating like…….like someone who had gone out with too much clothing. Anyway, I’m glad I went out early, because fog has now descended. Nothing spectacular, but I hope you enjoy the results.

You’ll find the rest of the photographs here

https://picasaweb.google.com/101001672850353526484/SnowFeb12#

And not a single mention of cancer………well just one.

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If you have any concerns about bowel cancer, or just want more information or check cancer rates in your area you can find all the information advice and help you need here. www.beatingbowelcancer.org

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I’m not really bothered about the line up, it’s not really about who’s performing, although the acts announced so far seem to be hitting the right buttons. Particularly ’The Slow Club’ who I have been following for a few months now since hearing them on the radio. Really looking forward to seeing them play live. Other than that, I’ve learnt over the years never to make plans when with Deb, chances are we’ll never make it to the right stage on time. We spent one day at Glastonbury a few years ago where we didn’t  managed to see one band all day. I’m still not quite sure how we managed that, but it was a great day nonetheless – I think !

Do you like the title of today’s blog? I can’t claim a moment of inspiration, it’s the title of a track on an album of the same name (Turin Brakes). Another one of my favourite songs, and another one that brings back fond memories. I was listening to it again on my walk yesterday. After booking the festival tickets I decided to go out and think of summer. Not easy when the temperature was below zero, but at least the sun was shining.  The Optimist seemed a good title, bearing in mind my commitment to the Green Man. I’ve always tried to be honest when blogging about my illness, although sometimes this can overshadow the optimistic and positive attitude I have towards cancer. I decided at an early stage, even before formal diagnosis, that there were two ways of dealing with it, glass half full or half empty. You can usually spot which camp most people fit into. Some are burdened with cancer, focusing on the negative statistics that we can all find when researching the disease. Others, most of whom have more reason to be pessimistic, choose to concentrate their efforts on what they can do with their life rather than negative thoughts. I am immediately reminded of Stuart, the guy with the brain tumour and terminal prognosis, whom I met almost daily  whilst undergoing radiotherapy. I wish I had exchanged phone numbers, I often wonder how he is now. Statistics would point to a very bleak outlook for Stuart. But then again, there are lies, damn lies and statistics. It’s more about what you choose to believe, and what to put your faith in. In the last 6 months or so I’ve come across many diagnosed with stage IV cancer, still living with the disease 9 or 10 years later. Yes there has been a lot of medical intervention during that time, but I’m pretty sure each of them will tell you that a positive attitude has a lot to do with it.

I’ll leave you with ’The Optimist’ , a beautiful song. If you don’t know Turin Brakes, check them out also, wonderful acoustic guitar songs.

Turin Brakes – The Optimist

And don’t be fooled by the ending.

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If you have any concerns about bowel cancer, or just want more information or check cancer rates in your area you can find all the information advice and help you need here. www.beatingbowelcancer.org

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Needless to say that by the time my alarm went off Friday morning I was in a deep sleep. Dragging myself out of bed only brought home my reliance on coffee in the morning. I was on ’nil my mouth’, which is particularly difficult when you are used to have 4 cups of black coffee in the first hour of the day. Somehow it’s a comfort to be back at The Christie, to be amongst people who know and care. There is an automatic acceptance that the staff understand how you’re feeling, there are no barriers, no reluctance in discussing issues, where you might hesitate with others. You are never ’just another patient’ and they always treat you with the utmost respect and understanding, making you feel as though you are the only person that matters when in their company. The Christie treats 40 000 cancer patients a year, and every one of them is made to feel special.

Fridays visit was for the long awaited scans, that will determine the next stage of treatment following the intensive course of chemoradiation. My course of treatment finished almost 2 months ago, the interval being required to allow the treated area to recover, inflammation die down and things to return to some degree of normality. There were times I thought that would never be the case, it’s hard to describe the effects of radiotherapy, and even my words now could not prepare someone beginning a course, particularly as the first few weeks make it seem like there’s noting to it at all. Anyway, Fridays scans were to determine just how successful that treatment has been, I hope the trauma was worthwhile. My first stop was a place I had not been before, The Department of Nuclear Medicine, for obvious reasons sited on the fringes of the main hospital. No sooner had I checked in, than my name was called. Height and weight checked (Yippee, I’ve gained a little weight) and escorted to a little room where I would be spending the next hour or so. I was relieved by the successful first time attempt to put a cannula in my arm, blood taken, sugar levels checked, flushed through and we’re ready for critical part of the day. What happened next can only be described as the perfect demonstration of precision and efficiency. The nurse had prepared my vein, second nurse appears carrying small metal case, places on trolley, opened, metal syringe taken out, inserted into cannula, radioactive isotope injected into my vein, syringe back in metal case, shut and taken away. All this took place in a matter of 6 or 7 seconds ! I was now to be left in solitary confinement for an hour, to allow the isotope to be absorbed by the various organs in my body. I was aware that I was missing live TV coverage of the Australian Open tennis semi final, but consoled myself that I would at least be able to keep up to date on my phone. Wrong ! I had not taken into account the fact that I was encased in a lead lined room, complete with lead lined door, so no internet access. Oh well, at least it gave me the opportunity to listen to an album I had downloaded months ago, and not got round to listening to. Ceremonials by Florence & The Machine, and I wasn’t disappointed. If you liked Lungs, then this is even better, and demonstrates how much Flo has matured over a few short years. I’ve been following Florence (and her machine) since first hearing of her on BBC Introducing, and was an advocate long before anyone had even heard of her. Her first major performance, John Peel stage, Glastonbury 2009 was outstanding. I’m always delighted when an artist I’ve been following from small beginnings really does become something, and there is no doubt that Florence has done so. Anyway, that killed the best part of an hour, with a few Laura Marling tracks ( A Creature I Don’t Know) thrown in for good measure. My time was up, I was glowing sufficiently now to enable the scans to commence. These were simultaneous scans (PET & CT) that would produce a precise 3D image of the structure and function of organs and tissue, showing hotspots of any cancerous activity. A painless procedure, apart from the need to be lying on a hard surface and the discomfort of trying stop my legs jerking all over the place as they normally do when I lie flat. Completed in about 40 minutes, I was more than ready for my coffee and sandwich as I waited for confirmation that the images were clear.

An hour and a half before my next appointment allowed me to catch up with the cricket on TV, and internet access for the end of the tennis, at the local pub. Oh, and three cups of black coffee. Both the cricket and the tennis were looking good as I left the pub. Murray fighting back from 5-2 down in the last set to draw level, and England’s bowlers taking vital wickets in the test match. How things can change in such a short while, but at least Murray showed guts, more than can be said of the English batsmen.

In no time I was off for part 2, my MRI scan. Sitting in the same waiting room as some 5 months before I once again looked around at the faces. I wondered how my face fitted in all these months later. I think my ashen face may have reflected the treatment I have undergone so far. I was called almost immediately, I’m not sure whether the fact that I was still radioactive had anything to do with this, but I was thankful of not having to sit waiting for any length of time. I’ve had my fair share of scans now, I know the procedure, and the fact that my cannula was in place did without the need for this, and so I was in the scanning room within minutes. Chemicals injected, strapped down, encased in harnesses, headphones on (still no new CD’s so it was Foo Fighters again) and the scan was underway. No amount of music can disguise the noise of an MRI scanner, it sounds like a group of builders are on top of the machine hitting it with sledgehammers. I can understand how some people feel claustrophobic, and it does make me wonder how, well, more obese patients actually fit in, as you are literally inches away from the inside of the machine as your body moves in and out as images are taken of the area required. In my case, the pelvis, the scan being concentrated on the area of my bowel where the tumour was identified. I’m hoping they can’t find it this time. 40-45 minutes later and I’m out again. Slightly delayed by the fact that my vein would not stop bleeding as the cannula was removed, but 20 minutes of pressure soon resolved this.

Thankful to be arriving home, even if to snow covered pavements and garden, and an extra warm house as I had forgotten to turn the heating off on leaving this morning. Shattered, even though I had not exerted myself at all during the day, I could not face the task of cooking. I treated myself to a Chinese, the first in over 6 months, I savoured every mouthful, although I’m not quite sure how my digestive system is going to deal with it yet. I’m determined not to start getting anxious over the results of my scans, it would be 10 days or so before I get to hear the results, so there’s plenty of time to be worrying. For now I’m going to make the most of being in my cosy little home.

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If you have any concerns about bowel cancer, or just want more information or check cancer rates in your area you can find all the information advice and help you need here. www.beatingbowelcancer.org

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I am well aware that my continuous talk of bowel cancer can have a negative effect on some people. I can read between the lines “oh no not him again….. Going on about cancer again…..why doesn’t he shut up about it”. Despite this I continue, maybe something will stick in the back of somebody’s mind that might just save their life. Bowel cancer is the second biggest cancer killer in the UK, yet if diagnosed early, 90% of cases can be treated successfully. Therein lies the problem- early diagnosis. We have to get people to see their GP’s at the earliest sign of concern. This has been recognised by the Department of Health, resulting in he launch of their ‘Be Clear On Cancer’ campaign which will run from 30^th January to the end of March.

The ‘Be Clear On Cancer’ campaign is significant in as much as it is the result of a u-turn by the government. One of the first things the coalition government announced when formed was the cancellation on spending on all government sponsored advertising campaigns. Did you notice, no Flu campaign this winter, no anti smoking adverts ? A pilot scheme, to raise awareness of bowel cancer symptoms, in two areas of the UK resulted in a 48% increase in the number of patients who visited their GP with relevant symptoms. Statistics like that can’t be ignored, and thankfully they weren’t. Advertising will appear on national TV, radio and press, you’ll see adverts on buses, and events will be taking place across the country to increase awareness. So if you’ve been thinking, now is the time to see your GP. All surgeries across the country have been briefed, NHS trusts , in particular colonoscopy units have been prepared for the increase in referrals, and additional funding has been made available. The campaign is being run in conjunction with Bowel Cancer UK, who will be supporting GP’s and practices throughout the campaign.

click on logo for more information

Bowel Cancer UK is another great charity working to reduce the number of deaths from bowel cancer and raise awareness.

My bravado is diminishing as Friday approaches. I have to admit to myself that I’m becoming anxious about my forthcoming scans. This is totally ridiculous of course, because Friday is insignificant, it’s the results, probably a week or so later, and subsequent meeting with the surgeon that will define the course of treatment over the coming months. I’m more concerned with the ‘lesions’ on my lung and liver than the tumour itself. I’m pretty confident that the radiotherapy did it’s job on the tumour. The internet is of course to blame for my anxiety. I am reading both positive and negative accounts of patients with my type of cancer. From the lady who’s cancer has spread to such and extent that the outlook is now very grim, to the patient who’s radiotherapy was so successful that doctors are now considering cancelling the operation to remove the tumour that is no longer there. Once again, it’s ridiculous, it’s my bloody cancer and it will behave in the way it wants to (although I am secretly hoping the tumour has disappeared). I am immediately reminded of the poor woman who was speaking on the radio earlier today. She was misdiagnosed for 2 years before bowel cancer was correctly diagnosed. She began her account by recalling how she had approached her GP with the words “I’ve looked up my symptoms on the internet”, these have to be the worst words you could ever use when speaking to a GP, guaranteed to get their back up. Their immediate reaction, and possibly justified, is that they did 7 years at medical school and training to gain their knowledge, and so what do you know from 5 minutes on the internet? This in no way explains the inexcusable misdiagnosis of the woman who presented with classic bowel cancer symptoms, but it might be a lesson to us all, even if we did look it up on the internet.

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If you have any concerns about bowel cancer, or just want more information or check cancer rates in your area you can find all the information advice and help you need here. www.beatingbowelcancer.org

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Please read, and inwardly digest

http://sitemanagergal.wordpress.com/2012/01/21/be-loud-be-clear-for-beating-bowel-cancer/

Receiving all the comments makes me realise just how many people get to read my blog. Mainly thanks to social network sites, people pass it on, re-tweet it. I now have 400 regular readers and subscribers. I don’t know that many people, but somehow I manage to reach out to them. I know my family is big, but crikey ! And from all over the globe too. I can account for some of them, far flung relatives and friends, but certainly not in the numbers I’m receiving. The list of countries where I have readers is baffling. USA, Canada, Brazil, Venezuela, Columbia, South Africa, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Netherlands, Sweden, Spain, Eire (yes I know who you are) France, India, Thailand, Sri Lanka, Australia, New Zealand………… if you’re in any of these countries (and we’re not related or friends) I’d love to hear from you, so I can ask….why?

Sunday afternoon I managed to force myself out of the house for an hour or so’s walk. Although it was freezing cold I’m glad I did. It was even an effort to put my boots on (more due to my back problem than anything else). I didn’t really need the boots, the mud I had expected was all ice. Hearing the cracking of ice underfoot is just about as satisfying as popping bubble wrap. The sky was clear blue, just a whisper of cloud drifting in the cold crisp atmosphere. Vapour trails from aircraft littered the sky, crisscrossing and darting in all directions like shooting stars. Although I live on the flight path for Manchester airport, it’s rare to be see so many planes in the sky at one time, only made possible by the clear blue sky. It was surprising to see the amount of water in the stream. The cascading water creating a wall of noise as it makes it’s way down the weirs and rushes through the quietness of the valley. It’s the same place as I always walk, yet it’s always so different. You can normally cross the stream in various places, making use of the rocks and stepping stones that are strategically strewn as the water makes it’s way downhill. Not today, the stones are all submerged, creating eeries and whirlpools as the water gushes over them. There is further erosion of the banks exposing the roots of unstable trees, some already having succumbed to the strain of the constant battering of the water. It’s an ever changing environment, left to the forces of nature to recreate a new landscape with every change in season. The picture below was taken after I had climbed out of the frosted valley, up onto the high ground where the sun had penetrating the frozen fields. From this high point I could see all the houses on the hillside, from Springhead, Austerlands and Scouthead, and for a moment I envy the view they must have from their homes. I don’t have a view from my small cottage, but I’m reminded that I’m just a few hundred meters from all this nature that I’m enjoying. I think I’m the lucky one.

Inspired by Lewis @MaxLewnacy

I find my bench on the walk home, pausing for more than a few minutes to recover from the unfamiliarity of the exercise. It’s become my thinking stop. I’ve paused here many times over the last 6 months, considering what the future holds, reminiscing on the past and appreciating the environment that surrounds me. I’m still no clearer on the future, or the past for that matter. But I’m not afraid, the area has a calming influence on me, allowing me to think clearly. It’s the perfect setting, and the more times I come here, the calmer I feel. It should be a pre op requirement for all patients. Sometimes I do get concerned that I’m not more anxious about what is ahead of me.

I wanted to stay and watch the sunset, it had the makings of a spectacular one, but it was freezing cold, and I could feel the temperature dropping as I sat there. And so it was homeward bound. Past the cottage in the hollow, still covered in frost. I always imagine it to be the woodcutters cottage, probably two old men playing duelling banjo’s on the rickety front porch. I’ve never seen anyone down in the hollow, if anyone does go down there they probably won’t come out. I’m still waiting for the new co-op to open. Walking past it seems there’s more work to do than last time I walked past. Past a few dog walkers on the way home. Always amazes me that they have to ‘talk’ to their dog just at the point they get closer to you. Is it an excuse not to speak to another human? “Sorry, I’m too busy talking to my dog”.

At last, glad to be home. Cover up the bulbs in the garden, close the door and that’s it for the day. Back in the warm. So glad I went out, and so glad that I live where I do.

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If you have any concerns about bowel cancer, or just want more information or check cancer rates in your area you can find all the information advice and help you need here. www.beatingbowelcancer.org

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