So, I am now mere days from my second-to-last cycle of my first (of a potential three) courses of chemotherapy. It has been an interesting last four months to say the least. The focus for the most part has been on coming to terms with what is happening, likely to happen and dealing with the ups, downs and side effects of chemotherapy while enjoying as much time as possible with my family and friends. The news that my scan showed no signs of secondaries on my lungs or liver (they are there, apparently, without question, but are not large enough to be detected by CT scan), which seemed a pleasant shock to my oncologist and that against all odds, my tumor (originally scanned at a mere 18mm) has reduced to a diameter of 16mm. This bodes well for a long break from chemotherapy - hopefully the full four months - before beginning a new regime on a new course of drugs, no doubt with new and familiar side effects to encounter.
The end of this first course has brought home the truth of my impending demise and albeit hopefully a couple of years away, it still seems far too close for comfort. I have found this time very emotional indeed. Not an occasional tear in the evening emotional but tears streaming uncontrollably down my face while driving the car or shopping at the supermarket emotional. I did wonder if depression was setting in, though thankfully it did pass after a couple of days but nonetheless, my initial diagnosis and thoughts of my actual dying (once again more from the point of view of its impact on my family) come to mind often.
Death is a surreal concept for anyone to grasp. At one time or another we have all pondered it. I am probably pondering it a lot more than most people without a serious illness or morbid disposition. I am not religious. I was born a Catholic but am now an atheist. I am not an avid atheist such as Richard Dawkins (though I have enjoyed some of his books very much), though I have come to the decision (and decision it is) - not lightly, mind you - that I believe there is no god, nor no afterlife. I do wonder that my diagnosis did not bring my (always) latent Catholic upbringing back to the fore. It still surprises me somewhat that it did not. My believe (as that is all we can ever have in such things) is still firm. Why am I discussing my religious belief? Well, because death and belief are somewhat intertwined. What do I believe happens after death? Well, I just don't know, obviously. No one does. Some small part of me hopes my firm belief is wrong and that somehow I will get to observe my family as they continue to grow, though deep down I think I have a stronger belief that nothing of me will remain apart from people's memories of me and what music and words I have recorded over the years.
Thankfully, besides all this, I am still in pretty good form. My family is as happy and close as ever and I am still very much aware of how lucky I am that I have a supportive and loving family and a wife in whom I can confide and with whom we can both discuss our doubts, fears, hopes and dreams. I am lucky that I have a supportive employer who understands and is concerned about my situation. I am lucky to have so many astounding friends both geographically near and far who are continuously showing their love and support.
Onwards and upwards. Tomorrow is another day.
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