Well I’ve got this far.  An achievement in itself.  Next objective get through to 2019.

The big threat is osimertinib deciding my tumours are too clever for it.  Then I’m down to a slim chance of getting onto a clinical trial where, if successful, I can sit there wondering if I’m on the placebo every time a part of me hurts a little.  If not, chemotherapy.   But that buys not very many months.  Medical science still needs to add to the miracles it’s already gifted to me.

I’m 50 in three weeks.  I want to see 51.  All of it.  Chris will, hopefully, graduate.  I want to be there for his silly gown wearing party.  Matt and Louise have so much life to live and both seem set to live it.  And I’m very much in love with Rachel.  Who’s easy going approach to life makes the desire to get more out of it simple to continue.

And let’s not forget the evil inheritance tax that will deny my kids a chunk of my pension if I don’t get to April 2019.  A big driver in my survival instinct.

Yes, my bones are weakened by this disease.  I never expected to rely on a walking stick age 49.  My spirit is more cautious than it was just a few months ago.  But I’m still here, for now.  And with the odds massively stacked against me I still have a little fire left in my belly that wants to live.  Wants to enjoy life.

So here’s to 2018.  Good luck in avoiding that proverbial bus hitting you – getting to 2019 will be great.

Dreaming of Flying Business Class Again