Coldplay’s song “Clocks,” with its famous urgent piano intro, is about mortality and running out of time. It lends itself very well to my current announcement.
I am absorbing the horrible news that my colorectal cancer, six years in remission, has now returned in my pelvis. My struggle to survive that first cancer is described in my book, The Cancer Olympics. Hopefully, I will learn if the tumour is operable on Thursday, when I meet with a surgical oncologist.
The lights go out and I can't be saved
Tides that I tried to swim against
Have brought me down upon my knees
Oh I beg, I beg and plead, singing
I had an emergency stent put in my ureter yesterday. The tumour was pressing against it, causing kidney to balloon and my blood pressure to rise. I feel so much better already.
Come out of the things unsaid
Shoot an apple off my head and a
Trouble that can't be named
A tiger's waiting to be tamed, singing
Still no idea about whether I can travel this summer. I will not be back to work in September, as I will need many months off to recovery. Indeed, it is not clear whether I can ever work again.
Confusion that never stops
Closing walls and the ticking clocks gonna
Come back and take you home
I could not stop, that you now know, singing
My “clear” CT scan from December was reviewed due to the positive PET CT I just had. It has been determined to be a false negative. The mass was evident on the December scan, but mistaken for my right ovary. So, sadly, I have lost 6 months against this metastatic disease due to a “Doctor Five.” Readers of The Cancer Olympics will understand that number.
Come out upon my seas
Cursed missed opportunities am I
A part of the cure
Or am I part of the disease, singing
My final meeting with oncologist Mark Dorreen was touching for both of us. I was his very last patient on his last day of work before retirement. I asked him what chemo I was likely to get. He answered “FOLFOX” - as told in The Cancer Olympics, this was the drug we successfully fought for in Nova Scotia, but too late for me to receive it. We all laughed at the irony. But I saw tears standing in his eyes.
You are, you are
You are, you are
You are, you are
My husband had a tumour removed last week. Today it was determined to be a benign lipoma. At last, a mercy.
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
Time for bed.
You are, you are
Home, home, where I wanted to go
Home, home, where I wanted to go
Home, home, where I wanted to go (You are)
Home, home, where I wanted to go (You are)
I am absorbing the horrible news that my colorectal cancer, six years in remission, has now returned in my pelvis. My struggle to survive that first cancer is described in my book, The Cancer Olympics. Hopefully, I will learn if the tumour is operable on Thursday, when I meet with a surgical oncologist.
The lights go out and I can't be saved
Tides that I tried to swim against
Have brought me down upon my knees
Oh I beg, I beg and plead, singing
I had an emergency stent put in my ureter yesterday. The tumour was pressing against it, causing kidney to balloon and my blood pressure to rise. I feel so much better already.
Come out of the things unsaid
Shoot an apple off my head and a
Trouble that can't be named
A tiger's waiting to be tamed, singing
Still no idea about whether I can travel this summer. I will not be back to work in September, as I will need many months off to recovery. Indeed, it is not clear whether I can ever work again.
Confusion that never stops
Closing walls and the ticking clocks gonna
Come back and take you home
I could not stop, that you now know, singing
My “clear” CT scan from December was reviewed due to the positive PET CT I just had. It has been determined to be a false negative. The mass was evident on the December scan, but mistaken for my right ovary. So, sadly, I have lost 6 months against this metastatic disease due to a “Doctor Five.” Readers of The Cancer Olympics will understand that number.
Come out upon my seas
Cursed missed opportunities am I
A part of the cure
Or am I part of the disease, singing
My final meeting with oncologist Mark Dorreen was touching for both of us. I was his very last patient on his last day of work before retirement. I asked him what chemo I was likely to get. He answered “FOLFOX” - as told in The Cancer Olympics, this was the drug we successfully fought for in Nova Scotia, but too late for me to receive it. We all laughed at the irony. But I saw tears standing in his eyes.
You are, you are
You are, you are
You are, you are
My husband had a tumour removed last week. Today it was determined to be a benign lipoma. At last, a mercy.
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
Time for bed.
You are, you are
Home, home, where I wanted to go
Home, home, where I wanted to go
Home, home, where I wanted to go (You are)
Home, home, where I wanted to go (You are)
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