And now what, doctor?

Six months ago Delia's year-long backbone agony was finally diagnosed as grade 4 lymphoma. It was, as I blogged at the time, as if one had walked to the local shop for a loaf of bread only to turn the corner and be confronted by an eight foot grizzly bear. Her chances of survival? With cheotherapy 30-50%, they said. Without chemotherapy, zero percent.

We went for the chemo. I'm not going to go here into the pros and cons of chemotherapy. Suffice it to say that it was the only possible doorway out of a very dark room. And suffice it to say that it has proven to be so aggressive on body and soul as to make one wonder, oftentimes, about its overall value. And it has left my wife with a current legacy of spinal deformation and internal malfunction. Both of them treatable? We so fervently hope so..

Dark days indeed, but made lighter, made sometimes even brilliant by such wonderful levels of local and distant kindness as I, myself, have never before encountered, nor ever would have thought existed. And believe me, I have lived through so much of human suffering within my own family circle.

But anyway now the chemo effects are easing off as the poison gradually exits her body at least Dee can occasionally don one of her lovely wigs, make up her face as of yore, dress herself up in summery loose clothing and take a ride with me on one or other of my sales drives around the remote shops of this lovely Wester-Ross.

Tomorrow we drive the 80 miles to Inverness' Raigmore Hospital in order to be told the results of her latest (PET) scan. Has the chemotherapy done its stuff? If so what next? If not, what next?

Perhaps the worst of answers? No answers. We shall see...


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