I GOT an early Christmas present this year – and it was all I could’ve wished for!
After three months off treatment due to a nasty bout of infectious colitis that left me in hospital, my body is FINALLY getting stronger.
And I’m making enough progress that my doctors have said I can restart treatment in the New Year.
It’s a strange thing to wish for, chemo at Christmas… and in the past it’s been the last thing on my list to Santa.
But right now, chemo is my only life line.
Three months ago that life line was whipped away from me after I suffered really hideous side effects.
I was rushed into A&E delirious and was found to have colitis, which triggered septic shock,
I was seriously ill and my body was just too weak to cope with anymore cancer treatment.
I had to be pumped full of so many drugs that I ended up looking nine months pregnant.
Earlier this year, when the drugs that had been keeping me alive stopped working my cancer started to grow.
A tumour started to cause my liver to fail and I needed an emergency operation to stent my bile duct.
It worked, and my liver started to improve.
But, last week I had to go back into hospital again – to have that stent replaced.
Well, that was the plan, but as with most things cancer related, it didn’t go to plan.
The operation failed and I spiralled into a panic.
Having been sent away from hospital being told there were no more surgical options, and knowing my body could start to fail if I didn’t get back on chemo soon, I was in a dark place.
It’s literally been a race against time, working out how to get me back on treatment before my cancer starts to rear its ugly head again.
So, this week, while most people have been playing a game of dodge Omicron, I’ve been playing that, AND running the cancer gauntlet.
A CHRISTMAS WISH
There’s nothing like last minute scans and tests a few days before Christmas to make you rethink your wish list to Santa.
All I have wanted all week was to get the green light to go back on treatment.
And yesterday, I got my Christmas miracle – I get to start again in the New Year.
You would think I might jump for joy and celebrate.
I high-fived my son, Hugo who watched and listened nervously while I took the call from my doctors.
And then I just slept for hours instead. It was like a huge weight fell off my shoulders.
In all honesty, the idea of being back on treatment makes me feel even more tired and sick than I already am.
I wish I didn’t have to go through more gruelling chemo, but if I don’t I certainly won’t get to celebrate another Christmas with my family.
I’ve been given another chance, and a huge sense of relief has reignited my belief in my body to get healing, and fast.
It’s been so frustrating having no control over my recovery, literally nothing I tried made me feel any better.
I’ve had to try to learn how to eat properly again and walk further than the end of my road.
It’s been slow and really, really hard.
I’ve made progress, slowly but it was often two steps forward, one step back – the sign of a body battered by cancer for five years.
NEXT STEPS
So what’s next?
I’m about to embark on a new course of chemo – a mix of daily tablets and IV drugs.
I’ve never had this cocktail before, and to be honest it doesn’t fill me with much joy.
The drug is called Ionsurf, and it’s used as a last line of treatment for metastatic bowel cancer.
Without sounding negative, or ungrateful for this chance, it’s not one of the ‘big gun cancer drugs’.
It’s now my fourth and arguably my last ‘proven’ standard drug chance.
However, my doctors have reassured me that the plan at the moment is to use this now, with the hope of going back to the powerhouse drugs I was on before, or a new clinical trial.
That ‘powerhouse’ chemo hadn’t stopped it’s job, of killing my cancer.
It just started to ‘kill’ me in the process – the side effects were so brutal.
So right now, we can’t risk me staying on it.
In another ray of hope, my latest set of scans show my cancer is growing slowly rather than rapidly at the moment.
And while the location of my tumous means I live on a knife edge (because they are inoperable) slow growth can be the difference between my liver working or going into failure again.
If we can just put my cancer to sleep again, then I have a chance of kicking the can – yes, I mean death – further down the road.
I trust my oncologist and my team, so when they tell me this is a good option, I run with it.
So, with more chemo to look forward to in the New Year, now I am just focusing on the here and now – Christmas!
I’m on a Harry Potter movie marathon with the kids, and I need to wrap the hundreds of presents I bought last minute.
Like everyone right now, I am hoping to remain Covid-free so I can see my parents, siblings and their families over the weekend.
I’m aiming to get through Christmas without worrying or thinking too far ahead.
In the five years since I was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, and told I had an 8 per cent chance of living to see that five-year milestone, I have learnt you have to take these things one day at a time.
While Santa has granted me my Christmas wish early, I’m going to steal one more.
All I want for Christmas is to have one more with my kids and my loved ones.
And I hope the same for each and every cancer patient out there.
Cancer or no cancer, the last few years have been really tough for us all.
It’s time to be kind to ourselves and enjoy spending time with the ones we love.
I can get in a grump at Christmas, overwhelmed at the pressure to be happy. Not, this year!
It’s fair to say I’ve had a rough six months health wise, with more lows than highs on the rollercoaster that is living with incurable cancer.
There were so many times when I really thought living to see this Christmas was a pipe dream.
But here I am. And for me and my family, that’s the best present we could have asked for.
Merry Christmas to you all x
