Awake at 1am. The knowledge of my growing pelvic tumour is very much on my mind as I slip into a Utah Sunday.
I’ve always hoped my medication will hold off the progress of this cancer for as long as possible. Now I’m hoping that the doctors say I can have a drug that adds months to life expectancy. There’s almost a feeling that it’s not worth it.
But I’ve got an amazing son. An Ashes trip booked. And Rachel, a lady who offers unlimited affection and support. I’m struggling with the pain in these early hours but I owe it to many others to keep up my fight. To keep up my hope that I can cling onto life for some new treatment.
Oncobabe advised against this trip. Risk of the tumour leading to a leg break. I’m uninsured if that happens. At least the Aussies have a reciprocal health care arrangement with the Brits.
While the Australia trip is lots of solo flights I will need to handle my luggage regularly. Big suitcase. A carry on bag that I intend to reduce further in size. Fagging it through airports hasn’t been fun. Lighter loads are necessary, especially without a trusty companion on hand to assist.
Airline special assistance services will be used. My expectations of myself need to be lowered. But, despite my discomfort, I’m committed to the trip.
While I struggle, some eight hours behind UK time, I realise that the next two months are unlikely to see more foreign travel. My sister’s Anglesey residence might be worthy of a few days away, but between leaving Vegas in a couple of weeks and heading off to Oz in mid-November rest is important to me. Denmark, Berlin, Vesuvius. All on hold.
Maybe new medication will improve my failing mobility. But rest has suddenly become more important. Rest before a big personal travel challenge that will fulfil my sporting ambition. Seeing The Ashes in Australia. I’ll be devastated if I miss out.