Jingle bells

It is almost Christmas – and that means that I am just finishing cycle six. It is funny how your point of view changes with circumstances. Most people are furiously wrapping presents, decorating the house (or office), planning (or recovering from) the office night out or any other of the million things that need to be done at this time of year. I am doing the same sort of things, but all of it is overshadowed and underpinned (a bit of overkill there J) by the fact that in June this year, I didn't know if I was going to be here at all.

As it is I am doing just about as well as I could be. It does change your point of view though – I guess there are some people out there who can identify with this, but it is an odd feeling. This is the traditional time of year both for reflection and forward looking. The last six months has been interesting, strange, unsettling, frightening, tiring and probably lots of other 'ings' that I can't think of at the moment, but looking back at the moment the main impression is 'normal' – and that sounds strange.

This has been a conscious decision though. Just after I came out of hospital, before the chemo started, I was just starting back at work. I came home from work one day to take a phone call from my GP. He had just heard through the grapevine that I had started back at work and he was concerned about me. At that time I had just recovered (or was still recovering) from major surgery and been diagnosed with cancer. This was the point where they were still trying to decide whether it was Stage 4 cancer, with a 5% chance of survival and spreading to my lymph system and liver or Stage 2 which had been totally removed, with an 80% chance of it never returning (it turns out it is the second).

Anyway, the conversation went sort of like this:

GP: I hear that you have started back at work

Me: (cautiously) yes.

GP: Why have you decided to g back to work then? Most people would just take the six months off – and I will happily sign a sick note for you.

Me: Hmmmmm, tempting!

GP: Do you want me to do it then?

Me: No. I want to go back to work.

GP: Why?

Me: Well, there are two main reasons (actually there were three - the reason I didn't give him was that I was starting to get bored watching daytime TV, but that was never going to wash). First, My Company have been very good to me. They have not questioned me and have said that I can do what I want (not quite their words, but that is what they meant). I know that there will be times later (in the chemo) that I will not be quite so willing or able to work, so I don't want to take advantage of them.

GP: Rubbish

Me: Well, the other reason is that I want to make life as normal as possible. My family have just had a big shock and we need to get life back to normal. They are going to return to school soon (it was the beginning of August at this time), and Helen is going to start her new job. When they are all getting up and dressed to go to work/school I don't want to be lying around feeling sorry for myself, I want them to see me getting up and putting on my suit and going to work too. It will give me something to aim for too.

GP: OK. That reason is one that I will accept – in fact I think you are probably right.

So I have been working most days (well mornings). Obviously I have not worked when I have had a chemo day (a day in the hospital on the drip) and there have been days when I have not been able to get out of bed – but not as many as you might think. In fact, being in IT there is a lot of stuff that I can do remotely, and indeed there is some stuff that has to be done out of hours (rebooting servers is not normally done during the working day) so I end up logging on remotely to get this sort of stuff done (you people who just expect email to work don't know what goes on in the background).

Looking forward, life is still tainted by this, and it always will. I read a book by Lance Armstrong, who won the Tour de France winner seven times in a row, after recovering from cancer. He says that you never stop being a cancer survivor and I guess that is true. I will always be in the system now. I will have check-ups for the rest of my life, starting just after I finish the chemo in February.

But life has to go on. We are looking at our options for holidays next year (having missed our holidays for the last two years). They are limited by travel insurance – it goes through the roof for a cancer survivor, so much so that we may just ignore it, or only get insurance for the other five. We fancy going to France, close to where we were due to go earlier this year, or possibly somewhere more exotic, but that starts to get really expensive. We haven't decided – and this is unusual since we normally know where we are going to go by Christmas. If someone wants to give us a holiday (including insurance), all offers will be gratefully received!

I am also looking to the day when I start work full-time again (and so is my boss). I don't know when this will be – presumably sometime after the chemo has finished, but I don't know how long after. I have a pile of projects just waiting to get started and I don't have the time to do them just now.

I think that is enough for now.

If I haven't spoken to you or sent a Christmas card, then I wish you a Happy Christmas and a peaceful New Year.

Graham