Calm before the storm

It's quiet on a wet Saturday morning. I'm up early and introspective. I sit here typing feeling as healthy as I ever have. Truly the calm before the storm. I've sometimes wondered how it would feel to know that I have this thing inside me. Now I know. It feels no different physically, mentally it makes your mind do backflips. I don't feel any fear at all. Kath is scared though. I know I'd be a basket case if our roles were reversed; I am so pleased that if we have to be visited by the beast that it's visited me. Strangely all my senses are heightened. Everything I'm seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, tasting is more than it was before. Rather nice. Kath and I are closer, touching more, talking more. Also rather nice.

I'm reading a lot about this disease over the net. Kath feels I'm reading too much, but it's how I deal with it. I need to know what's in front of me, what I'm fighting. I won't just let it wash over me. Kath isn't reading much at all; she's not ready for it yet. But she will.

There's a lot of people out there fighting this, either as patients or as caregivers. There's a huge range of emotions, from denial to despair. There's a lot of people that have beaten the disease that continue to support those in the fight. The aim of the game is NED - no evidence of disease. That's what you're fighting for, that's what you need to hear your doctors tell you, and it's achievable.

On Tuesday I go in to get two tubes inserted into two brand new orifices in my body. One is for feeding during the radiation when my esophagus is too inflamed to take food; the other is for chemo drugs. Then later the same day, I go for "mapping". They are going to tattoo me as guidance for the radiation. Trouble is, there's quite a lot of me, and much of it wobbles quite freely. I'm going to have to lie very still indeed.