Dear Cancer Part 5

Dear Cancer,

I should wish you a merry Christmas and best wishes for the festive season. But as you’ve recently decided to wake from your slumber and cause no end of disruption to my life, I’m not sure I can find it within myself to wish you well.

I already knew what the images would show as I assumed the position, lying down with my arms above my head on the scan table, and felt that familiar warmness rushing through my body as the contrast was injected. The symptoms of abdominal distension with colicky pain and the distinctive fatigue that never resolves with sleep are such objective measures of your progression, I hardly needed the scan’s different shades of grey to tell me you were on the move.

What is it with you? Could you not face seeing me happy and contented professionally? I know you; you thought you’d wait until I’d settled into my new job then make your move; striking just before Christmas and forcing me to keep it from my family to avoid ruining everyone’s fun. I never thought I’d be able to be a Consultant. My Acting Up job is wonderful, immensely challenging but so fulfilling. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. And you’re going to steal it; seizing all my professional dreams and dumping them firmly in the bin.

And now I am faced with the arduous task of having to break the news of you to everyone. The pain etched in my poor Dad’s eyes as he struggled to hold back the tears was almost unbearably painful to watch. The break in my Mother-in-law’s voice as I imparted the terrible truth over the phone made my tears flow uncontrollably but silently.

Last time we were in correspondence I told you I had some things to do that you were not going to get in the way of. Well you I’m pleased to say you didn’t; I’ve cuddled my brand new niece many times and had the pleasure hearing my youngest nephew call me “Aunty Kate”; I’ve jumped out of a plane from 10,000 ft; I’ve somehow acquired two Fellowships; I’ve been taught how to make brioche by the wonderful Michel Rous Jr; we’ve continued to work hard with the fundraising for the YCC; I’ve spearheaded a campaign to improve patient experience across the world which has received so much positive recognition. Considering I should be dead by now it has been quite a year…

As is tradition I will conclude by wishing you a happy New Year. I am about to confront some of the most challenging decision making I have had to on this incredibly tough journey. I’m not sure how I will. Do I give the poisoning another shot? Or do I bow out gracefully now? Will treatment have an outcome that we will be satisfied with? How bearable will the toxicities be? Nobody can answer these questions for me and to coin one of my favourite phrases “no one has an accurate crystal ball”. 2015 is likely to be the year you finally get the better of me, but at least I can look back on a life well lived with a true purpose. I’m really scared so please be kind in the way that you decide to take my life.

Kind regards,

K x

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