MarySmith’sPlace ~ Cancer Diary #23 – cast adrift on a sea of confusion

Wednesday 10, February: I had my first Covid vaccination on Thursday. If there were any side effects they were camouflaged by the radiation side effects – didn’t even have a sore arm. I don’t know when I’ll receive the second on – maybe in about 12 weeks, depending on supplies.

On Sunday, I managed to stay awake all day for the first time since I finished my treatment and went out for a short walk. We’ve escaped Storm Darcy’s snow but my goodness it was freezing – much too cold to take my gloves off to take photos. In the evening I tried a little glass of wine as the acid reflux has improved with the change of medication. Can’t say I particularly enjoyed it though.

Having been quite chirpy by bedtime on Sunday (it was a tiny glass of wine so it wasn’t that) I was bitterly disappointed on Monday to find I felt worse than ever. The radiation side effects were no worse: in fact, the ‘sunburn’ is now a small patch and the swallowing pain is manageable without pain relief. I do have to remember I can’t eat like I did before. I have to be much daintier. Always a fast gobble of an eater, if take too big a mouthful the pain on swallowing is dreadful so it has to be little bites. I can only say I felt like shit – a feeling which didn’t go away. And, I found I couldn’t sleep at night. Until now, no matter how many naps I took during the day it didn’t stop me sleeping at night. Now, I’m scarcely napping during the day and not sleeping at night.

I think it’s probably ‘scanxiety’ setting in early and to make matters worse it turns out the scan is not going to be six weeks – but 12 weeks after the end of radiotherapy. Last week, blogger Stevie Turner said she’d had to wait three months before her post-treatment scan. I just assumed it was because we had different cancers. Turns out I was wrong.

The specialist cancer nurse called today (and next week’s call is in our diaries). He mentioned I’d see the oncologist at the beginning of March for a six-week post-treatment review and said: “The follow up CT scan will be 12 weeks after the end of your treatment – and then if it’s necessary you may see the doctor.”

To say I was gobsmacked is a gross understatement. I raised my voice, I used the F-word, I cried. He explained the radiation continues working for more than the six weeks I thought, so there was no point in doing a scan until after 12 weeks. OK, I get that, I can understand that (still curious as to how I so thoroughly misunderstood the timings) but what I can’t get my head round is a review when the oncologist can’t know what’s happening to the tumours or the lymph nodes and yet after the CT scan it seems the oncologist might not deem it necessary for us to meet. That surely can’t be right, can it?

I did quite a lot of squawking about how wretched I feel and how I’m worried about my lack of energy and if this is as good as it’s going to get then I wish I hadn’t bothered going for the treatment. I tried to explain how cut adrift it feels – treatment finished, off you go, bye bye. He starts to worry about my mental health and asks if I’d like to talk to someone like my GP. I say I spoke to my GP last week. I don’t say I’ll write my blog tonight and that will sort out the depression – nor do I say, as I wish I had now (and will next week) that by continuing to let me talk – we got onto the subject of chips and mayo at one point – my mood did lift a bit. It’s not always talking about how we feel which helps, it’s feeling connected to another human.

And it’s lifting further tonight – phone conversations with two good friends, a bit of time in the garden breathing fresh air, writing this, realising that if I have until early April before the CT scan, I can be fairly confident no one expects me to kick the bucket in the meantime (they don’t, do they?) so I can look forward to spending time in the garden in March, maybe walking more. And it’s probably not expected I’ll die immediately after the scan so maybe I have some more months, even a year, to be here – just let them not be months of feeling like shit.

Speaking of which, the lactulose helped in the short term but having stopped all pain relief, there’s now no need for the laxatives – yay.  

Twelve weeks before finding out what’s going on inside my lung still seems a long, long time to wait.

134 thoughts on “MarySmith’sPlace ~ Cancer Diary #23 – cast adrift on a sea of confusion

  1. It does seem a long time to wait. Hopefully, there will be good weather soon and you can be out in the garden. Time always seems to fly, until you are waiting for news. Are you able to read? I would suggest something funny, like Barb Taub’s books. If you need to talk we can always do a Zoom call. Sending hugs. xo

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    • The swallowing is much easier, thanks, Katy. I don’t think I was actually told when the scan would be but when told I’d see the oncologist six weeks after treatment I assumed I’d have a scan before I met with her. Never assume!

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      • Hah! Never assume anything about the medical profession. Their ‘god complex’ has let them get away with far too much for far too long.
        However, gods can only exist when there’s someone to worship them (probably why Zeus was such an arsehole) so the more of us who wake up our fellow non-god people, the better off we’ll all be. 🙂

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  2. Good to hear you had the first dose of vaccine. My husband had the first dose yesterday and was given a date for the second shot.

    Twelve weeks is a long time to wait, but six weeks maybe too soon to tell. A couple people I knew of had the cancer come back after six months. It was like monsters the second time around.
    My husband was CT/MRI specialist before he retired. He negotiated with my doctor to have the minimum scans because radiation causes another type of cancer.

    Good that you had a good time talking to your good friends. Take care, Mary!

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  3. It must be maddening to see improvements and still feel awful. I am sure anxiety and stress do not help matters any. Medical care is lacking in so many areas it seems. Are physicians in short supply there? I am glad to see you are airing your frustrations. The idea that one should be all sunshine and daisies not knowing the status of their own health is maddening. Still keeping you in my prayers and uppermost in my thoughts, Mary.

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    • Thanks for your support, Maggie. The side effects are much less than they were, which is good, but it’s difficult not to stress about the scan and the long wait (which I understand is necessary) when it is such a life and death matter.

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        • I didn’t answer your point about a shortage of doctors. In my part of Scotland, we don’t have a resident lung cancer oncologist. One comes down from Edinburgh one day a week to see patients and meet with the multi-disciplinary team. I knew I had cancer for three months before I ever saw the oncologist. We are a rural area, with a small but widespread population and there are not the resources to have a lung cancer oncologist permanently here. I’d have to check out if it’s a similar story for other disciplines.

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  4. Boy, oh boy, it seems people think they can get away with saying anything because they aren’t close enough to kick! The joke’s on him because YOU have such tremendous support to keep your head above water, your spirits high, and bake you brownies if desired! KAB team is here!!

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  5. Your logical reasoning that you won’t kick the bucket before the scan is very sound. (Was also a hilarious line) Yes, kicking the bucket right after the scan is very unlikely too. So there you are. Time in the garden with your pain getting less. Sounds like a good time ahead. Chips and mayo are the best.

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      • Yes you can’t go anywhere but you need to practice your wine drinking skills. I was dismayed that you didn’t find it exceptional. On the other hand, wine is my good friend and maybe I’ll add your portion to mine. 😁 As you feel better the time won’t seem so long. (I hope)

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  6. Oh gosh, that is a long time to wait. Maybe they are easing you in gently for the longer wait for the next check-up? I’m clutching at straws here, but my friend Mo said that waiting for the next check-up was always the worst part.
    As for the lack of sleep, disconnected etc…. could part of this be Covid-system related? I suddenly started sleeping badly this lockdown. Doesn’t help that I’ve ended up in the pattern of ‘go to bed later because I got up later, then I don’t sleep aka wake up at 4 am or later then sleep again and wake up past 8 am’. I always used to be a dawn waker. I count the nights I don’t have trouble and it’s probably averaging two a week, no more.
    And I don’t have underlying worries about my health, well no more than the averagely unfit but so-called healthy person. But I have had a text that my Covid jab is not far off….
    So, I’m just trying to work out for you how much is ‘normal’ cancer response and how much is ‘normal’ covid response that the rest of us are going through too.
    Which means… you’re normal. Does that help?
    Love from me and the boys. Roscoe has come out in sympathy with the constipation. I’ll tell him he can stop now. 🙂

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    • I think I’m sort of ‘normal’ Jemima! I know what you mean about the Covid response and the cancer response. If there was no Covid and lockdown I think it’s unlikely the discovery of the 12-week wait would have felt like such a blow. With no lockdown, I’d be able to go off and do things which would take my mind off the scan and its results. And when I complain about not being able to see my son, I realise thousands and thousands of people are in the same position.
      I hope you have your vaccination soon – the more of us who are done, the better. I think.
      Poor Roscoe, that’s going above and beyond what friendship expects!

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  7. Shame you were unable to enjoy the wine. I have a lot of faith in wine curing many things, albeit mentally, not physically. I can’t say anything much more than you said about the treatement and outcome. But if it was me, I am 100% certain I would be angrier and more vocal than you have been. (Not that it would solve anything, I know.)
    So well done, Mary.
    Thinking of you, as always, Pete. x

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  8. This must be so hard for you, Mary, feeling so adrift. I wish there was more ‘mental health’ support to accompany the medical treatments. One can assume that this is a major deal for anyone, so why isn’t that considered an adjunct? There certainly are plenty of studies to indicate its need. I guess they just cover their end and figure you’ll cover the rest, but it sure would be nice to acknowledge it. I’ll continue to envision you, pain-and-cancer-free, enjoying the sun in your garden. ❤

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    • It does feel tough to have to rethink when I’ll get to know what effect the treatment has had. If it takes 12 weeks for the radiation to stop working and everything to settle down I do understand the need to wait but I had assumed when I was told I’d see the oncologist after six weeks I’d be having a scan then – otherwise what can she tell me? The pains are a lot less now – the sun is shining but, goodness, the temperature hasn’t risen above freezing today!

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  9. I remember my sister telling me that treatment goes on working after its stopped, in some cases they can even give less that originally decided on because it can work so well. That said I fully empathize with what you’re saying, especially as you were told six weeks…. There not a lot I can say about how your feeling physically and mentally the whole thing is very difficult to deal with. You are doing so well and being so positive against all odds. I am glad to hear you are off the painkillers that will help your tummy. All I can say is keep safe and upbeat…. I nearly said positive…But no one wants to be positive these days 🤣🤣💜💜💜💜

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  10. I can hear and feel your frustration and anger, Mary, which are justified. Honestly, I don’t know how you cope as well as you do. I don’t think I could, not without professional help. Have you thought of seeing a therapist that specializes in serious illness? Even with family, friends, and writing, it’s hard to handle all this stress and uncertainty on your own. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, and it’s still continuing. It would help to have a knowledgeable and understanding person to confide in.

    In the meantime, swear all you want and rail at the unfairness of it all. You’ve earned the right.

    Love, hugs, & prayers,
    Linda

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    • Yes, Linda, the frustration and anger spills over – which is good because bottling it up is not! I have the contact details of someone at the Maggie’s Centre if I really need more help. Thanks for your continued support.

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  11. 12 weeks is stinking pile of guano. However, the fact you are improving is a good sign – it points to the idea that improvement can still happen, and it’s early days yet. Plenty of room for more progress 🙂
    ((hugs))

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    • It is, Kim – a pile of poo. I am feeling much better in many ways – the radiation burn has almost disappeared as has the pain on swallowing. It would be good to have more energy so I could do things to take my mind of the waiting – the attic still needs clearing! Hugs back.

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    • I know – it seems to stretch to infinity! I’ll have to keep buy with other things to take my mind off waiting for the scan and wondering about the result. I’m really pleased the throat pain is much less and I can eat more easily – just have to remember to take small bites and not be too greedy! Thanks for the hugs. Backatcha 🙂

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  12. Gosh, 12 weeks, what a long time to have to wait. Good to hear you were honest about your feelings when you spoke to the cancer nurse. By the way, I really like the word “squawking” even though, for some reason, I always have a devil of a job trying to remember how to spell it! Excellent you’ve had the jab. Sending love and hugs.

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    • It’s ages, isn’t it, Wendy? I’ll try to be patient and think of other things to take my mind off worrying. Glad you like the word ‘squawking’ – when I typed it there I started to doubt the spelling 🙂 It becomes an odd word the more you look at it! I’m glad I’ve had the first vaccination and can start to feel partly protected.

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  13. It does takes that long for the treatment to shore positive results. But they should have told you when they finished the therapy. I hope your symptoms keep on receding and that you feel better soon. Lord of hugs.

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    • I think it’s partly (mostly?) my fault for making an assumption. When I was told I’d see the oncologist six weeks after the treatment I assumed I’d be having a scan before I met the doctor. Wrong assumption – though I’m still confused about what she can tell me when she doesn’t know if the treatment has worked or not. I’m pleased the side effects are much less now so that’s good. Thanks for your support and the hugs.

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    • Obviously I don’t know how long I will still be here – but it looks like long enough to see my spring bulbs in bloom – and maybe plant some bedding plants. It would be good to be around when the lockdown restrictions are finally lifted and be able to celebrate by going somewhere. I’m certainly feeling the side effects less than this time last week so fingers crossed. xx

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    • It’s certainly giving it a lot longer than I thought it needed, Alison! I had a glass of Merlot last night, which went down quite well (and I slept well) so by the time I have the scan I’ll be able to have a huge glass – whatever the result.

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  14. All of the above, Mary and yes it must be an anti-climax but the positives are your throat is healing and although smaller bites being able to swallow is a bonus…as was letting off steam ..that’s good for the stress levels…You have your garden in the spring and some lovely walks to look forward to…Sending more good vibes and wishes to sleep your way… Hugs xx

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    • It totally threw me, Carol. I already thought six weeks was a long time to wait so to be told it was actually 12 was a horrible shock. I’m really pleased the side effects are wearing off. I could do with some extra energy so I could do more things to stop me dwelling on what the scan result might be, I hope the weather warms up a bit soon so walking is more of a pleasure than an ordeal – it’s been below freezing here for days – proper winter weather 🙂

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  15. Everyone is wishing you all they wish for themselves, Mary. Sounds utterly miserable. But look how much you’ve gone through, and survived with courage and humour. Sound off as much as you want ( I would have been whinging far more, far earlier!). Today I just send love – even though I know you will probably hate the sentiment. Just put yourself totally first. And forget answering anything until you can really face it!

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    • Everyone is being so lovely and supportive, Judith. It does help me and I really appreciate it. I’d be sounding off into a vacuum if you weren’t all there – but I’d still sound off because writing it down is always helpful.

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  16. What we know and understand and what we feel are two different things, and if you expected to hear something before, I can only imagine how you might feel. They should provide written information (perhaps recording the visits or taking notes?) about the process and the time-frame, to avoid such confusion, I think, because all patients have so many worries and things in their minds that I’m sure you’re not the first to get the timings twisted, and although it wouldn’t change the fact of having to wait when you expect something to happen quickly, it makes the wait feel even longer. But you’re totally right. Things are improving, and you have the right attitude. Big hugs, dear Mary. ♥

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    • I do record the discussions with the oncologist and take notes if it’s a phone call, Olga. I’m to blame for assuming the oncologist wouldn’t want to see me until she knew what the treatment had achieved so when I was told that would be about six weeks after treatment ended I thought I’d have the scan around then. It was a shock to realise I’d a lot longer to wait. There’s nothing I can do about it other than try to find plenty of displacement activities to take my mind off it 🙂

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  17. Shout all you need to Mary, it is good to get the frustrations out. You have a lovely support system here, we are all sending you our best wishes and prayers. Chips and mayo sound delicious, I think I’d top mine off with a square of dark chocolate for some decadence.
    I wouldn’t be surprised if the Covid vaccine met the cancer meds in your body and each one sized the other up, snorted and glared, flexed each of their muscles and had a bit of a face off. Hopefully they agreed to keep to their own corners of the boxing ring and that as the days proceed you have more good days than bad. The garden and the Spring sun will hopefully do their part to lift your spirits. All our love, Rosie.

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  18. 12 weeks times 7 days – I’d cut up little squares of cardboard and string them up and ceremoniously burn one each night by candlelight. At our age time speeds up and before you know it you’ll be having that next scan. I think we get conflicting info as science still doesn’t know all the answers, new stuff is found all the time and the doctors cover this up as they don’t like to admit they are not perfect. Hang in there, hugs and love from me.

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  19. I think 12 weeks is pretty standard. I had the same amount of time to wait. The oncologist would want to wait to let body tissue recover and for any swelling to subside. When you go back after 3 months you will feel a lot better, be able to swallow again, and the doctor will be able to assess you properly.

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  20. I have had two people in the last few months in similar circumstances. I find myself doing little thought experiments – what would I do, how would I cope? Hard to enter that thought process, but I do not think I would be very poor at coping. There are moments when I think I would ask for no treatment just pain relief. I do know that even the thoughts give me a kick up the ass to get out and do stuff.

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    • I think it’s impossible to know how we’d feel and cope until we’re actually in the situation. No treatment was an option but the doctor seemed to hold out hope for longer with treatment. And getting out and doing stuff isn’t an option when the chemo and the radiation have sapped your energy levels to zero. Until I have the result from the next scan I don’t know how much extra time, from the 7 months with doing nothing, the treatment has give me – and is it extra time with enough energy to get out there and do stuff? These are the questions I’ve asked since the beginning and not really had answered – mainly I think because medical people have a different perception of what constitutes quality of life.

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  21. Twelve weeks seems like actual cruelty. I’m so sorry.

    But, as always, in awe of you. I particularly liked “It’s not always talking about how we feel which helps, it’s feeling connected to another human.”

    Raise that next wee glass to connections!

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    • I think it’s cruel, too, Barb! I do understand the need to wait until the radiation has stopped working and everything has settled down before the scan but because I’m seeing the oncologist after six weeks I thought that’s when I’d have the scan. What can she tell me when we meet?
      I’ll definitely raise a wee glass (and it might get bigger) to human connections.

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  22. I totally understand your point about seeing the doctor before the scan is taken. I mean, why? And then, maybe, there will be a visit after the scan? It is completely counter intuitive. And your comment about being cut adrift after treatment really struck me. It is for different reasons, but I too feel like “We’re really busy – see ya.” I KNOW they know that cancer patients don’t trust their bodies for a long time after this illness. We need appointments, scans, everything they’ve got to bring peace of mind. I do hope that they improve their communication with you as you move forward. It’s stressful enough. Thinking of you.

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    • I don’t know, Melanie. I can’t imagine what she’s going to tell me when we meet – maybe it’s a general check on my physical wellbeing, seeing if the side effects have disappeared, etc. The nurse said the CT scan would be 12 weeks after the treatment ended and I’d see the doctor afterwards “if she thought it was necessary”. I think that might have been when I used the F-word.
      I completely understand why people who have had cancer don’t trust their bodies – many of us were living our lives totally unaware there were cancer cells forming tumours, threatening to kill us so why would we suddenly be at ease thinking it won’t happen again. Thanks for your support.

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  23. Mary, the line that struck me most of your post is ‘it’s feeling connected to another human.’ Don’t we all want that, more so when seriously ill and at our most vulnerable? It’s good you made some connection and yes, another chips and mayo fan here, but ultimately it must still be hard to wait so long and not know if you are seeing the oncologist after the scan. It’s good you’re feeling a bit better overall and able to swallow better … tiny steps but ones that make a difference every day. Wishing you peace in the next few weeks, may each day hold something special to treasure within your heart. hugs xx ❤️

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    • That’s the line Barb Taub picked up on, too, Annika. I do feel quite strongly that bonding over a liking for chips and mayo is as important, or more so, than dissecting emotions – although I’m probably not explaining it very well.
      Things are improving – swallowing is less painful and the heartburn is easing – managed a glass of wine last night. I managed a walk in the sunshine today, even if it was bitterly cold, and admired the snowdrops in bloom – with daffodils pushing through behind them.

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  24. Sorry about the wait Mary, just what you don’t want. However on the plus side, the weather will hopefully be getting better – even lighter nights are a positive for me. If you’re able to get out walking you can tire yourself to sleep and if not, at least you can enjoy the beauty of Spring. An even bigger plus, saying goodbye to the need for lactulose – that has to be a win! Take care, keep smiling and, if needs be, swearing – it always helps me! Sending love, Jill xx

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    • The days are definitely lengthening, Jill. I noticed this evening it was still light until after 5pm so that’s good as is the sunshine we’ve had the last few days even though it has been bitterly cold. And, oh, yes, I’m delighted I don’t need any more lactulose. I’m putting the bottle at the back of the medicine cupboard and hope it stays there until it is out of date 🙂
      It does seem a long time to wait for the scan but I just have to be patient and try to think of other things – it’s much too soon for ‘scanxiety’ to set in.

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  25. Talking always helps. As does writing it down, Mary. My next-door neighbour asked me if I could help with sorting out her heating yesterday. It meant going into her house. We kept 2 metres apart, and she’d opened some windows, but later on, she thanked me for sorting out the heating but also for the brief chat we had. She said it really helped lift her mood.
    12 weeks seems like a long time, but time seems to fly past as I have grown older. Hopefully, it will pass by fast for you, and you’ll get the results before you know it.
    In the meantime, keep talking; whether it be on the phone, over wifi, or from the garden, it all helps.
    Take care.
    Sending you hugs.
    xx

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    • I completely get your neighbour and her pleasure at having a conversation with someone. It really is so important to stay connected through this pandemic or we may find we’ve lost our ability to connect with each other in ways we did before.
      I’m a strong advocate for the power of writing as was of processing worries and fears – and even as a way of finding out what I think/feel about a situation.
      Time is strange, though. It does go faster the older we get. I remember asking Dad if it started to slow down again when he was in his 80s but he said it didn’t. It seems impossible we are almost half way through February already – and yet waiting until the beginning of April for the scan feels like it will take forever. I have to find some projects to take my mind of the scan. Thanks for the hugs.

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  26. Mary, human contact and reassurance is especially needed when you are going through something like this. So glad you managed a breathe of fresh air with your friends. So sorry you have such a long wait ahead. I truly feel for you. Such a hurdle to cope with. Sending love and hugs, Marje x

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    • I’m trying to get out even for a few minutes most days for some fresh air – at least when it’s sunny! Waiting is tough and the imagination creates worst case scenarios so I have to try not to think about the scan. Maybe it’s a good time to finish clearing out the attic! Thanks so much for you concern and support, Marje. x

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  27. A log of attention is on Sue, very little one you. And yet both of you are having treatment for the same reasons. I wish both you and Sue speedy recovery and several more years to practice the art of not taking S#!t from anyone. 😁

    I can only imagine how frustrating it is to be living in uncertainty for weeks, and having that kind of information handed to you as if it’s no big deal. It IS a big deal, and I am pleased to hear that you let the messenger “have it” for being so lackadaisical about it.

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    • Sue has been blogging for many more years than I have and has thousands of followers compared to my few hundred! We both got diagnosed with lung cancer only weeks apart – just as she was about to come and visit me in Scotland. We are still hoping we will manage that visit in the spring. We’re fairly sure we’ll both be around in April but being able to travel depends on the lockdown restrictions.
      And its those restrictions that prevent me from at least being able to take a few trips away while waiting for the scan!
      I still can’t get my head round why the oncologist will see me for a review before I’ve had the scan – and might not feel the need to see me after I have had the scan. I just made a comment to Jill on here that cancer=anxiety and uncertainty. I can’t think why anyone would want to be an oncologist.

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  28. I popped in to catch up as I like to read the comments as well as the posts. You have done amazingly well Mary through this all and it must be awful to have this wait ahead of you. I am so pleased that you do have the thought of spring and the flowers you planted, longer days, perhaps some sunshine when this cold patch has gone.. walks in fresh air and hopefully a little more contact with humans.. and to be able to see David. When I compare how much pain you were in three or four weeks ago to where you are now, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Hopefully you will enjoy wine a little better in a few days.. my advice… keep trying lol… it is good for you.. sending love and hugsxx.♥

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    • I was just about to go to bed (should have gone a while ago, really) when I saw you’d left a comment, Sally. The pain is so much better. I was taking oral morphine every two to three hours plus paracetamol and now I can manage without pain relief. I’ll have to sort out some projects to take my mind off the long wait until the scan – trouble is my brain doesn’t seem to be ready for any writing projects, which is a shame. Maybe once I have a bit more energy I’ll get back to writing.
      I will keep trying the wine – had a wee glass tonight 🙂 Thanks, as always, for your support xx

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      • I think perhaps some experimentation just for medicinal purposes and to find something that slips down easy…Perhaps start at the beginning of the alphabet… although I am not personally a fan of absinthe…I prefer samples in the second half of the list such as mead, rum, tequila, vodka and whisky. A little project to get you back into writing mode…just being helpful…♥♥

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        • Last week Robbie suggested a Kahlua milkshake, which I’ve not tried yet but sound promising and a few have said to have a Baileys – nice and smooth. Think I’ll skip ábsinthe! Thanks for being so helpful, Sally – I’m sure it will help me get back to writing in no time 🙂

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  29. Such admiration for how you face up to all you’re going through, Mary. Great to hear how simple things like talking to a friend, sitting in the garden are helping. Even a wee glassof vino. Thank you again for sharing, Mary. Good luck

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    • Thanks, Pete. Most of us are missing those simple things – coffee or a drink with a friend – because of lockdown restrictions. It’s amazing how much we took for granted a year ago so I know I’m not on my own missing these things but throwing cancer into the pandemic mix is more than a bit unfair! Beginning to enjoy my vino more so that’s good – tempted by the Kahlua milkshake someone suggested though I’ve never – knowingly – tasted Kahlua 🙂

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  30. 12 long weeks Mary – but what perfect reasoning – you can’t be expected to kick the bucket before then so March in the garden and on walks should be good – and hopefully you will start to feel better after the radiotherapy. I think you won’t kick the bucket for a long time, especially with such an enormous number of friends sending you good vibes. I’m not sure I even know as many people as the huge number of friends you have who all send you their kind support.
    Your situation is truly grim but you are an inspiration to us all.
    We’re still thinking about you every day.
    Juliet xxx

    Liked by 1 person

    • The Blogging community, which is international, is very supportive, Juliet. I’ve really appreciated having them in my support team.
      12 weeks is a long time to wait to find out what the treatment has achieved. If there was no lockdown, I’d grab the chance to have a few days away to take my mind off it. Just have to hope for reasonable weather so I can get out and about and build up energy levels. Thanks for still being there for me xx

      Like

  31. I can certainly understand your anger and confusion. That sounds absolutely absurd waiting that long! Don’t get me started, my hub has been in hospital for a few days now and everything is upside down with the damned Covid. 😦

    Liked by 1 person

    • I hope your hub gets on all right, Debby. Covid has a lot to answer for – or at least the way it has been handled/mishandled. In my case, though, it’s not Covid to blame for the delay but the need for the inflammation to reduce. If I’d known it would be this long from the start I could have been better mentally prepared. xx

      Liked by 1 person

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