Well, on March 2nd, it will be one year since I was told I definitely had cancer. At that particular point, the cancer had all been removed but I had loose cells in my tummy.
So, here I am, thumbing my nose at one set of statistics. I made it. I am well.
My clinical psychologist is very pleased with my progress. We have agreed I can be discharged, but her door remains open, should I need to return.
Mr G and I have moved home. We needed to get out of the 'sick' home. So we've moved to the country. This story is on Well, I never .
I needed to remake our home. At the old house, we had never properly created a home as when we moved there, my cancer, unknown to me was already making its presence felt. The utter exhaustion of the months, preceding my diagnosis, was appalling. I could barely function.
Here, in our new home, there are no bad memories. We are already building wonderful new memories.
My next check up is on 15th March. I have an appointment with the Genetics doctor from Oxford on the 19th. There is no escape from reminders of my brush with death. I am living though. Cancer does not colour my days any longer. I would be foolish to pretend that blood tests do not bother me, or that I am not apprehensive about my appointments, but they do not keep me awake at night.
I rest easy.
I am well.
