I have been doing my exercises religiously, trying to avoid the dreaded fluid retention and lymphedema. What if it had spread into the lymph nodes and was whizzing round my body?But, niggling away at the back of mind was “what if”? All these “what ifs” had become reality for a number of people I know, so I just couldn’t relax.It comes to something when hospital food is a better option. No stitches (all sort of glued together) and surprisingly “OK”.I don’t look like a survivor of a shark attack – being a shallow sort of a girl, I will still be able to wear sleeveless dresses.Perhaps that is one reason for the incredible support we have received, and which has helped us come to terms with Emma’s illness. I didn’t cry once during the 24 weeks of Mr Keemo Therapee.
We are both sitting here in our new Christmas dressing gowns, overdosing on twiglets, the entire four series of Line of Duty and fighting with the spaniels for space on the sofas in front of the log burner. Not for us this time the splendid fireworks over Sydney Harbour.
At the appointed hour on Friday evening (the longest Friday in history) we sat in Monika’s consulting room as she beamed and told us I was chemically, radiologically and pathologically clear of cancer. I will continue to have various drugs for some years to come, but as Team Emma we’ve seen the pernicious little bugger off.
Brilliant treatment, ever developing drugs, skilled surgeons, a huge dollop of good luck and unswerving positive vibes from tens of thousands of people we don’t even know.
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