You Never Know Until You Know

I was really expecting to hear I was going back into chemo today. The last exam showed that the level of cancer in my body had neither fallen nor risen. The oncologist had told me that if there was even a slight rise, I’d go back into treatment.

But today, the oncologist told me the level of cancer had fallen. Not by a miraculous amount but enough to be significant, and to allow us to continue to be cautiously optimistic about the future.

I was okay with the idea of going back into chemo. It wasn’t exactly how I’d have chosen to spend the holidays but it could be worse. Besides, I have Ultra Hats for all occasions. Anyway, Chris and I were prepared; our upper lips were stiff, Blitz spirit, all that.

And instead, we get good news. We’re a bit stunned but hey, we’ll take it!

Now we’re back home. I’ve told Chris he can collapse for the rest of the day. Me, I’m going to get back to work-work-work-work-work-work—I’ve got a lot of work—although I think I’ll have a generous shot of Monkey Shoulder whisky to go with it.

So that’s today’s life lesson, friends and neighbours: you never know until you know and it ain’t over till it’s over. Every victory, even a small one, is a gain and if you pile up a whole lot of small victories, you just might end up with a big one. But don’t wait—celebrate each small victory as you go. You can still have a big party later.

Don’t mind me. I’m dizzy with relief. Did I mention it was good news? I did, didn’t I?

Yes, We Have No Green Bananas

It’s been such a busy year, I’ve barely had time to think about terminal cancer, so the fact that 10 October was my last day to buy green bananas before my oncologist appointment on the 24th went right by me. And now here I am in Milan, at Stranimondi, which is my last out-of-town event for 2017. I’ve already accepted two invitations for next year—a convention in Poland in April and OctoCon in Dublin in October. Anyone would get the idea I think I’m going to live forever.

But the suspense for this appointment is killing me even more than usual, seeing as how last time, the level of cancer had neither fallen nor increased. If there’s an increase, it’s back to chemo.

The prospect of chemo doesn’t worry me. It’s the waiting to find out—the suspense—that has me hopping from one foot to the other. I can still work on chemo, although there are times when I’m slower. But I told my oncologist back in the beginning that I don’t care if my cancer is terminal, I want to fight it aggressively. I’m not going to go quietly or gently into that so-called good night. I’m not going to ‘die with dignity.’ 

I’m going to live as hard and as long as I can, and when I go, I’m going to skid into my grave sideways with a piece of chocolate fudge cake in one hand and a double martini with three huge olives in the other, yelling, ‘Woohoo, what a ride!’