The
fragility of life
Three months after completing treatment I got a pain in my shoulder.
Funny it should be worse after a drink. And why all this itching again?
A bone scan showed a hot spot. A biopsy was negative, but my doctor
didn't believe it so he arranged another. That too was negative. I didn't
believe it. Another pain, my hip this time, another bone scan, another
hot spot, another biopsy. Third time lucky - or unlucky. This was positive.
I had relapsed. Meanwhile Fiona, after further chemotherapy herself,
had died in our home. I needed more chemotherapy now, not "gentle"
chemotherapy like last time. (Whoever said the last lot of chemotherapy
was gentle hasn't undergone it). This time it would be high dose chemotherapy,
strong enough to kill all my bone marrow. It might even kill me before
the disease had a chance to. Here I am, walking the tightrope between
life and death. If I wobble, if I slip, if I lose my nerve, or if my
supporters fail me, I'm gone.