Today’s visit to Oncobabe was to get results from the CT scan I’d had a couple of weeks earlier.  My previous CT scan results at the end of September had seen off miracle drug afatinib, nine months in to what was meant to be a thirty two month stint.

And, this latest CT scan has confirmed that my cancer has spread across my pelvis, sacrem and even into my second rib above the right lung.

In other words, this vicious disease has now seen off my last realistic hope of a longer term survival.  The osimertinib is pretty much useless fighting my rather aggressive cancer.

Oncobabe waxed lyrical about the next stage of treatment.  She almost made it sound like getting a promotion at work.  But there is a stark reality to consider.  The next treatment is chemotherapy.  Three months of weekly sessions.  Two and a half hours of drugs flowing in through my hand and chest.  And a 49% chance of being wiped out after each session.

In good news, apparently any hair loss from this drug combination will be minimal.

I had hoped it would be clinical trials time when osimertinib let me down.  But apparently they’re not available until I’ve completed chemotherapy.  Which has convinced me that my thoughts of skipping chemo and dying a bit quicker isn’t such a good idea after all.

I was referred for clinical trial consideration back in October.  No official acknowledgment.  Today Oncobabe provided a phone number and a doctor’s name to follow up.  My sister’s onto it.  DIY lifesaving clearly preferred by Oncobabe.  “Your death just got much closer so chase up your own clinical trials” weren’t quite the words used.  But they might as well have been.

So what have I got to look forward to?  A birthday lunch in ten days.  A week in Anglesey with Rachel immediately after birthday dessert.  Oldham Athletic being Wembley finalists in the Checkatrade Trophy.  If they win another three or four games in the competition that is.  Stockport County might just sneak into the National League North play offs.  England might win the World Cup.

After that, realistically I’m struggling.  The April 2019 inheritance tax avoidance plan looks like a failure.  Seeing Chris graduate would be a miracle that now doesn’t look possible.  Seeing England regain The Ashes, no chance.  It’s highly likely this will be the shortest year of my life.

At least the last time I saw us play Australia at cricket we beat them.  A memory retained by my inability to get to the cricket down under this winter.  Small mercies.

Cashing In