Sunsets on Empire…….. Is this really the
end?
It’s Christmas Eve, the
lasagne is prepared for the oven, it’s a Clark Family tradition for 24th
December. The kids are back from their far flung places. Most of the food for
tomorrow is ready to go. The rib of beef should feed five adults and a medium sized dog. The wine is flowing.
It was four years ago today
that we were told the news that perhaps we’d both expected following the previous two weeks of investigations. I had T2 throat
cancer and would need Radiotherapy and Chemotherapy. Later that evening, after
reading A Night Before Christmas, another Clark Family tradition for 24th
December, we sat Anna and Max down and broke the news to them, “Ho, Ho, Ho,
Happy Christmas, Dads got cancer…… “
The next four years are
fairly well documented in previous blog posts. RT, Chemo, remission, “it’s
back”, a laryngectomy, recovery, work, rest, play, redundancy.
There had been a bit of a
scare of late. My throat was, and still is, pretty sore, so the NHS got into
gear and sorted out an MRI scan in short notice. Older readers will know I hate
MRI’s, but this one passed without drama, at one point I actually dropped off
to sleep.
My appointment to get the results was on 19th December,
the last clinic before Christmas, the same clinic as 2015. The clinic was
packed as you’d expect. I looked around and as per usual I was one of the
youngest there. I didn’t recognise any of the other people, but I recognised
where they were in treatment. A man of about my age was called in to see the consultant,
along with his wife. 30 minutes or so later they emerged in tears holding each
other closely, to be taken to the private room by one of the Cancer Nurse
Specialists (CNS), I remembered vividly what it was like for Carol and I to go
through the same scenario four years ago. I felt so sad for them.
The clinic
was running about 90 minutes behind. I’d taken in my Kindle so wasn’t too
worried about the delay. There was a lady sitting opposite me who’d arrived
about 20 minutes after I did. She looked like death warmed up. She was
obviously going through the RT and Chemo routine, and was struggling. I
remember how I felt when I was doing the same, when I dropped down to 68kg’s,
when like her I was sipping on the energy drinks to try and get calories into my
body. She was getting distressed by having to wait to see the consultant,
whilst I was sat there thinking that the traffic would be pants by the time I
got out. It reminded me a bit of “Sports Direct Mum” from one of my original
blogs, me being judgemental for no other reason that I can be a bit of a cock
at times. I got the hint that I was in the clear when both Amy (CNS) and
Caroline (SALT) saw me and smiled. Eventually I was called in. MRI Scan is negative.
Cancer isn’t back, “See you in 6 months Mr Clark, have a great Christmas!”
I have now run out of words.
A
brief resume in pictures of four years living with cancer.
The
Family, taken before the diagnosis.
Chemo
started in January 2016.
Radiotherapy,
much harder than I envisaged.
A
badly scared neck following RT.
My
mask. Photo taken the day I finished treatment. The following two weeks were
really tough.
It
was back, and the only option was invasive surgery.
The
little “Lary” tube that kept my hole clear in the early days.
Celebrating
my escape from Churchill with a glass of wine in the garden.
Life
goes on. Neville and I enjoying an afternoon at Old Bath Road.
Carol
and I enjoying a break on the island of Fuerteventura.
177,500 words, over 115,000
views. Time to call it a day. Thank you to everyone, far and wide, who’s commented on this
blog over the years, or who’ve offered support to us as a family. It has been
invaluable.
As always, thanks for
reading.
Have a great Christmas with
the ones you love.
#Shoulder2Shoulder
