Cells

Sometimes as I sit here contemplating my fate and other things such as consciousness and spirituality, I can't help but think how different things might have been.

It's quite possible, indeed almost certain, that as my surgeon, Mr Speake was busily removing my tumour, some infected cells had already made their escape and were lying dormant in my lungs waiting for their moment to start their terminal duty.

And there they lay, hiding, inactive, invisible to the most sophisticated scanner in Edinburgh, dodging gallons of chemo drugs  sent into my body to seek them out. Knowing that as long as they remained quietly, cruelly, carefully inactive, hiding in some corner of my lungs, the chemo drugs would not find them. This they managed to do over a period of six months when I put up with all the miseries that chemo brought into my life, expecting to emerge at the end clear of cancer.

Of course the little bastards had other plans. It's as if they were waiting for their moment in the sun and knew when the chemo drugs had left my body, so out they came dancing round my lungs and multiplying at a furious rate, so much so, that  the radiographer can only tell us that they are there in multiples. I don't think anyone has counted them. Just too many for them to bother, as they know there are enough of them to kill me.

I keep telling myself if only I'd gone to my doctor six months earlier they would not have had time to infect my lymph nodes and blood vessels and would never have found their nasty way round to my lungs. But I try not to dwell on that too much. I can't blame myself for how my life is ending. I can only hope for a little more time to annoy you all with my witterings. Is there such a word? And sorry there have not been many for past few weeks, but I will try to do better.

I will know more on  the 9th  of March when I see my oncologist again and she has the results of my next scan which should be sometime towards the end of February.

That's all for now. It's snowing here in Edinburgh, but I'm hoping to make my way down to the National Gallery to see the Turner watercolours, before they are put away for another year. I missed them last year, due to chemo diversions and this year may be my last chance to see them, so I think I should brave the snow and get on with it. Bye folks, more soon, maybe on films or something. Tonight is Wolff Hall night.