Anniversary

Two years today since my diagnosis. When I mailed the journalist who's undergoing cancer treatment and discussing this on the local TV news, I mentioned the date. His response was absolutely correct; isn't it strange how we remember exactly when we received the news we had cancer? I certainly do, down to the exact circumstances - the consultant had been delayed, I'd had tests the previous week and been told that the consultant who did those tests thought it was "very unlikely" that I had cancer. So, of course, even though I had my suspicions, I went to the hospital appointment feeling totally exhausted but vaguely confident - and I went alone. The news wasn't entirely unexpected, despite what all the medics had been saying for more than a year. Indeed, I didn't feel that it related to me at all. Commonly, this is something that you hear cancer survivors say, particularly when we look back on our illness - I can't connect the person I am now with someone who's had cancer. After all, people with cancer aren't like you and me, are they? But, of course, they are. They are me and they are you. Remember that "one in three" statistic? And then think about the people like me, the people I know, the people you know; we are all susceptible, but we can all survive as long as we insist on investigations when we see our doctors and, if we feel there's something really wrong that they haven't found, we need to keep on insisting.

This is the third Christmas since my diagnosis, and the second since surgery and treatment. Two years ago, I was convinced I wouldn't make it to another Christmas, but here I am, thanks to my consultant gynaecologist and her skill and thanks to advances in medical research that have lead to more effective treatment.

So, my musings for today centre around huge thanks to those who helped me and the need to make sure that now that survival rates have improved so much, diagnoses become quicker and more efficient, too.