They gave me my blood test results. My blood is fine and fully recovered from the attempted annihilation of the first chemo. I am a fighter.
They are going to give me better anti-sickness medication tomorrow so I can take on Chemo Number 2 with my head held high and my fist in the air instead of my head in the toilet and my fist clutching the loo roll. I’ve got the eye of the tiger.
They said that otherwise I can expect the same from the second chemo as I did from the first. A few days feeling tired, then back to my life and back to running in preparation for my 5k race on 20th September. I am a champion.
They said I have not been given a date for a CT scan because I don’t need a CT scan to check for cancer spread because my cancer is a small, slow growing tumour. It won’t have spread and there’s no need. Then they heard me roar. Then they agreed to give me a CT scan for my own peace of mind. (As much as what they say should be reassuring, we all know what happened the last time someone thought I was fine and gave me a scan for my own peace of mind. They found cancer. I need the scan. I need to know.)
I am apparently so well that the oncologist doesn’t want to see me next time. I can just get on with things for the next 2 chemos, unless I have any issues. I will see them again in 6 weeks.
I came out of the hospital, in to the sunshine, feeling amazing. I was smiling. I was standing taller. I practically danced along the streets and in to work.
Who'd have thunk it. This "cancer journey" really is full of surprises.