3 phone calls, 2 letters, 1 consultation, nothing on Wednesday!

After three weeks of amiably drifting through the grey of May and the added moisture of June with time filled with the pleasantries of visitors and the discovery of lanes, alleyways, shortcuts and overly manicured gardens within a feeble stones throw of the front door the sun finally put in almost a full days appearance.

The phone rang, letters fell into the porch, the phone rang some more and the vacant lines on the calendar became despoiled with committments.

First up, a 50 mile trip west and 50 mile east return was requested for a post op looking at. The voice on the phone said, Tuesday. My manageress agreed. A very short gap and the phone voice asked that I be presented at our hospital 8 miles away on Monday, park in car park B and report to Oncology for 1:45. OK. No sooner had the phone cooled down and the post op organiser informed us that Tuesday would now happen on Thursday at 4:00.

Letters duly arrived confirming each appointment.

Thus was our Monday afternoon after a short drive, easy parking, early presentation at Oncology reception and all seemed most relaxed. My only complaint being the magazines on offer in the waiting room. Few are read and no one seemed to investigate what was on offer, alas  the two piles I perused would never be read by anyone using our NHS, indeed I suspect that the Nuffield over the road probably has a few car, bike, boat magazines whilst we have Polo weekly, Upper Crust Life, Guides to buying mansions with 7 figure price tags and articles on how to dine out for less than a grand a head, not including Champagne, brandy or single malts.

Fortunately, over half an hour before our appointed time we were called in. The consultant was utterly lovely, informing me that the operation had been a success and that if I had to have a cancer in my pancreas the one I have is definitely the best one to have. The sense of relief was missed initially but came back later. Lymph nodes had not fared so well, 12 out of 19 removed were very unhappy but the tumour itself had failed to ingratiate itself with a major blood vessel. Had it done so I would have been inoperable instead of "just on the limit of operabilty" and not tapping on this screen as Eric Clapton fills the gap between Le Mans free practice and qualifying.

Such statements stated with a clinical matter of factness have a habit of washing through the brain without effect. Only when our clinician paused for breath does it begin to register but there's no time to dwell on the import of the words or to give thanks for another Providential confirmation of plans beyond my comprehension.

The offender is an Ampullary cancer called T4N1. I would call it Jeremy but he may yet win so I lean towards Krankie, a loser but it doesn't sound right so I think I'll just cogitate and ruminate a little longer.

It may be the least worse cancer but T4N1 still needs to have it's future curtailed insofar as it can be. Thus, on Monday week I begin 6 months of chemotherapy, IV bags dripped into me every Monday for three weeks with (possibly) pills to take morning and evening at home. At least I get a week off every month.

A whole week off  traveling, visiting, out and about. Yup, but recovering is more likely to take that time and if a week isn't enough they can pause the treatment if it gets intolerable. Actually, the presence of blood platelets or their absence will determine events.

The description of side effects tumbled from our consultant like the soporific words of Stephen Fry reading Harry Potter. I did not fall asleep and I did try to keep up, mostly. Their randomness was difficult to grasp but once home with the streamer streaming I could visualise their place in my future. Fortunately my minder was taking copious notes.

To whit, as far as I can remember bearing in mind that we are all different and side effects are manifest by and in degrees as is our response to them and our ability to cope. So, from the top, my hair may or may not fall out but it will certainly thin out a bit, my eyes will water much more than usual, mouth ulcers are very likely as is a tongue full of Thrush, angina is very likely and a rash on the hands and feet is best treated with udder cream readily available from Mole Valley Farmers. Nausea would become an issue and I could expect to busy from the other end, too. My blood is likely to thin and blood marrow will be adversely affected so I will be very susceptible to infection, pneumonia got a mention as well somewhere. I could refer to the notes taken, I could even read the information sheets provided.

The outcome can't be guaranteed but statistically I'm good. I'm glad of that even though statistics are a foreign language. I may never have a recurrence, if it is really determined to come back it will most likely be back in two years. It could return at any time but tabs will be kept.

That pretty much covers it, I think. Fortunately, once repopulated the calendar was vacant for the next two Wednesdays. Today I had a hair cut and next Wednesday my dentist will check me out because you can't have dentists plying their trade when one is on chemo.

After all this it is little wonder that once the 6 months, or longer if postponments become necessary one will require a month or three to recuperate. She was careful to emphasise the fact that tiredness was the major side effect and that as time went on the cumulative effects of treatment was of considerable significance.

Until treatment starts I have been offered blood tests, scans, surveys, consults and all manner of things medical to fill the otherwise empty days. Fortunately we can have a parking permit for the treatment but for everything else we have to collect the pound coins again.

For the first time I feel like I'm at sea at night in a bit of a breeze. It's like I can see a light just occasionally over the horizon but getting there will be a bit rough and take a while but I've always been most comfortable when afloat.

Having tickets to see Suzanne Vega in September may be a tad optimistic although you never know. Seeing her in concert would be nice but it's not as if we would struggle to find a home for the tickets.

Looking at the chart my light looks very much like my neice Tallulah and Tom's wedding next Easter.

That does matter, but I'm not having a new suit, or wearing a tie!