Here We Go Again. Maybe.

Is it back?

Back again?

I’m about to find out.

My apologies for the lack of updates in recent weeks and months. I’ve been working hard at both getting better, and trying to write anything more than just of handful of words a day.

Both have been a struggle.

However, I may be updating this blog more frequently soon. For all the wrong reasons.

I haven’t shared this outside my immediate family so far, but I’ve decided to talk about it now in case I have to start writing about my health on a regular basis again.

haven’t told Sam and Arran as I don’t want to worry them if I can help it. Sam especially has coped very badly over the past year and a half.

So, at the risk of rebooting all the doom and gloom, here we go…

Just before Christmas, I had my regular appointment with Mr Morar, my oncologist. I’d been suffering with pain and swelling in the right side of my face, and told him as much. So, when he examined me, he paid special attention to that particular area.

And he found a lump.

A new lump.

In my face.

He arranged for me to have a CT scan as soon as possible, which happened two days before Christmas Eve. The scan was for my entire upper body – face to waist (which was also the title of my early 90s concept electro-pop album, but that’s a story for another day*).

Since then, I’ve heard nothing. Zip. Nada.

Utter silence.

I tried my hardest not to worry about this new lump over Christmas, and resolved simply to spend time with Kirsty and the boys, and to enjoy myself – which I did.

I even managed to eat a small, but extremely pleasant Christmas Dinner!

This Wednesday (10th January), I finally heard back from Mr Morar’s office. They had now received the results of my CT scan, and Mr Morar wanted to see me at his very next clinic. That’s next week, on Tuesday 16th Jan.

I had a whole week to worry about what he’s going to tell me.

I asked Kirsty to call back and request that someone from Mr Morar’s team speak to me, if not to give me the exact results, then to tell me whether I needed to prepare myself for bad news.

The answer was ‘no, that’s not possible’.

I took the ‘phone, and begged them to tell me something. Anything!

But, no.

I just have to wait.

I have to wait until Tuesday to find out whether this is simply an issue with my teeth or jaw (you may remember the ENT department’s dentist telling me that my radiotherapy will, essentially kill my jaw, but that it will take years to die).

It could be complications with my lymphedema or trismus (lockjaw).

Or, it could be that the cancer has returned to fight another day.

I won’t know for another four days from the time I’m writing this (Friday 12th January 2018).

Four days.

Doesn’t sound that long, does it?

It feels like an eternity.

Believe me, I’m trying not to worry. I really am.

But, I’m already mentally exhausted. I’m worn out by forcing myself not to think about it – which is nigh on impossible.

Don’t agree with me? OK, try this…

For the next 10 seconds, DO NOT think of a huge white bear sitting on a floating block of ice.

At all.

I mean it. DON’T think about polar bears. Don’t do it!


Almost impossible.

So, that’s where I am at the moment. Waiting to find out if we’re about to embark on this tomfoolery all over again. Oh, except if that’s the case, I’m not allowed to have more radiotherapy on that side.

It’ll be chemo alone, unless surgery is possible.

And a big part of me hopes it isn’t.



* Oh, good – I’m using humour while talking about cancer again. Can you tell I’m scared?

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