Anybody Got a Pin?

With the decision made to have the suspicious lymph nodes in the right side of my neck removed, the big day (25th July) soon came around.  Once again I found myself checking into a hospital but this time with realistic optimism that this could be the final round of my cancer saga.  Though, as I ponder this statement, I cannot help but wonder will there ever be a final round - one that enables me to forget and consign the memories of the past 10 months into a black hole, never to re-emerge. 

Having enlisted the help of my good buddy and best man extraordinaire Dave to act as chauffeur on the day, I was dropped at the front doors of the hospital slightly ahead of my 07.30 reporting time. The Manor hospital in Oxford gave the feeling of a half decent hotel and I noted the squeak of my shoes as I walked across the highly polished floor to the reception desk.  

 

I am directed to a ward on the first floor where a nurse will apparently be waiting to greet me. Certainly the Balcony Cafe I pass en route looks a touch above the League of Friends Cafe I had occasionally frequented on my daily trips to the Churchill during my radiation treatment. 

An attractive slightly older nurse welcomes me with a lovely smile .  When I say older, I mean older than me, as later for some unexplained reason Sally volunteers her age as 63 along with a number of other personal details - I am really not sure how I came to find out that her father was a director at British American Tobacco for many years and that eventually he died of smoking related cancer. 

The room Sally escorts me to is huge and could easily make two good sized bedrooms. The usual standard of hospital furniture adorns the room with the exception of an electric blue PVC sofa which stands out of place, loud and proud. 

Having been asked to report at 07.30 my hopeful assumption was that I would be scheduled for a morning slot in theatre but on enquiring, Sally informs me that as my operation is the longest and most complicated I am last on Mr Winter's  list for the day. 

I curbed my urge to shout "but that makes no sense".  I rationalise internally that surely being the most complicated procedure it should mean that I be first down to theatre whilst the  surgeon's levels of concentration are pin point sharp rather than dulled by exhaustion and boredom following a series of routine operations. 

I am duly told I should be going down to theatre around 12 o'clock and so I resign myself to the prospect of killing a few hours reading my book and surfing the internet looking for new "special interest" sites. 

As 12 o'clock comes and goes my paranoia about the state of alertness of Mr Winter plays on my mind and finally, having been told by the ever helpful (but less than reassuring) Sally that the previous case has been on the table for 2 hours longer than planned, I get taken down to be prepared to go under the knife at 14.30 hrs. 

It's not long before the anaesthetic is administered and I experience that feeling of quietly and peacefully slipping into unconsciousness. Come the glorious day that I shuffle off this mortal coil I can only hope that it is with this same feeling of painless serenity. 

The operation was scheduled to take 3 hours and so on coming around in the recovery room I am told I was under the knife for only 2.5 hours, which I recall taking as a positive sign as to how well the operation went. 

As expected I'm moved to the Intensive Treatment Unit for observation overnight. 

The night was less than straightforward as my neck started to swell due to an internal bleed which eventually left me looking like the mongrel love child of Alfred Hitchcock and Desperate Dan.

The pain was brought under control by a healthy dose my old friend Morphine at 2am and in fact by the morning the pain had gone completely but the drain that had been installed as part of the operation was proving inadequate at coping with the bleed. 

Having been put on "nil by mouth", following consultation with Mr Winter, the decision was taken that I would go back to theatre to prevent my head from turning into an over ripe melon. 

 

Anybody got a pin !

So the preparation procedure is repeated except that the anaesthetist on this occasion is a little uncomfortable about putting me to sleep and then finding out that due to my swollen neck he is unable to stuff a breathing tube down my throat.  

He calmly explains that this will mean he will put the tube in through my nose and it will be whilst I'm awake - suddenly I am a little less relaxed but the spray he administered through my nose meant it was not an uncomfortable process and eventually I am feeling serene once more.

An hour or so later as I come round the feeling of being a bit-part actor in the movie Ground Hog Day washes over me. 

This time the outcome of the procedure was as desired and I am returned to ITU with my normal 3 chins - the turkey look is all the rage this year I'm told.  

 

Gobble Gobble Gobble !

 

Another night in hospital and with no further complications I am discharged the next day. 

In a couple of weeks I get the results of the biopsy on the lymph nodes but to some degree it's an irrelevance. If it shows cancer was still present then I needed the operation but if it shows all clear then, that is good news. 

As for me, I'm hoping that the results show this latest episode was all a waste of time as the lymph nodes were free from cancer as a result of the chemo and radiation treatment. Fingers crossed.  

Doesn't look a day over 39

Saturday July 15th 2017

So as part of the latest Mrs Marsh's significant birthday celebrations (her age being the significant part), we have come away for a two night break in the luxurious surrounds of Whatley Manor near Malmesbury. 

Apart from the extra crows feet appearing around Emma's eyes another significant fact is that it is our first night away without George, who has been left at home in the capable care of her aunties, aided by her sisters Megan and Milly

When saying capable, in describing George's Aunties Rachel and Sarah, capable of what has to be the question. On our first night away we get some much appreciated photos of our baby girl enjoying quality time with Aunty Rachel as she gets her first visit to a drinking establishment - The Bounty public house. 

 

Given that normally at that time she is being prepared for bed, I watch with anticipation to see if Emma's blood pressure rises, but no, not at all. I suspect that George, as 50% Townend blood stock, will soon enough find pubs a real home from home.  In fact having subsequently learnt that George enjoyed her first visit to the pub so much that Aunty Sarah repeated the trip to The Bounty on Sunday that I suspect it may be a lot sooner than I might hope!

On arrival at the hotel, having just enjoyed a really delicious fish and chip lunch at a local pub, we checked in and promptly collapsed into bed for an afternoon nap. The prospect of a couple of hours uninterrupted sleep before our evening dinner in the Brasserie restaurant was too much to resist. We slept deep and sound and on awaking, I announced to Emma that, before dinner, we are going to the 6.30 showing of a film at the in-house cinema.

Ever the obedient wife, Emma readied herself and we arrived on time to be shown to our front row seats where a table with popcorn, drinks and a remote control were neatly set out. 

The lights go down and the movie starts and to Emma's surprise, complete with some lovely backing music a selection of our wedding photographs is played, followed by highlights from our wedding video, which neither of us had actually watch since we walked down the aisle in July last year. 

Since becoming a mother Emma has discovered a softer side which must have been buried deep beneath her hardened exterior. The ice maiden was in tears after about 10 seconds and so I trotted to the gents and returned with a box of tissues, enabling the main attraction to continue. 

Much thanks must go to my eldest daughter, Megan, who spent many hours over the previous weeks making the montage which was appreciate by the entire audience ! 

After dinner we return to our room in eager anticipation of our first full nights sleep without twitching every time the baby monitor crackles. 

However if the truth be known, our first night without George was a little disappointing for Emma. I'm not referring to my performance in the bedroom department (let's just say what goes on tour stays on tour!). Whilst I slept like a log Emma woke several times feeling certain that she could hear a baby crying in another room. Now as we had seen a tot being pushed around the grounds in a buggy earlier that evening, it is impossible to tell if this was the cause of Emma's disturbance (as she would have us believe) or if it was the neurotic mind of a new super sensitive mother. I will let you be the judges here.

 

Sunday 16th July 

After a hearty breakfast we prepared ourselves for a bike ride in the lovely surrounding lanes. 

Emma had meticulously planned the ride from the hotel down to Chippenham where a rest stop would be taken and from there an option to take a long or short route back.  

This was to be my first meaningful ride since recovering from treatment. The complete loss of fitness that had ensued due to 8 months of zero exercise had left me a little nervous. Please Lord tell me she is not going to be stronger than me on the hills! My inner self reassured me that I was being ridiculous, oh course she won't, she had a baby in January for goodness sake.

My concerns were well founded. Whilst the early hills passed without incident, halfway through the outward leg, Emma powered past me on a hill which was met with some suitable grumbles from me, "how can you be so cruel, don't you know that I'm recovering from cancer". Not sure how much longer I can use the cancer ticket, I suspect it is coming to its end of life.

I dug deep for the next few hills and made it to Chippenham without further distress. 

A hot chocolate stop sat by the river was a welcome break as Emma spelt out the options for the return journey.  It was simple, an additional 15 or 30 miles back to the hotel.

At this point the legs were shot to bits and so I made some feeble excuses about not wanting to tire ourselves out before our meal in the Michelin starred restaurant that evening and how we should make use of the lovely Spa and a match on the croquet lawn also beckoned. 

The Simple fact was we had riden 15miles already and the prospect of doing that distance twice more would have quite possibly killed me. 

Decision made and without rubbing my nose in it too much, Emma agreed it was sensible to take the short route home.

After Emma had broken me on a few more hills on the homeward leg I needed something to lift my spirits and the much anticipated croquet match did just that. After a bit of lunch on the terrace, the match commenced and despite her clearly making up some rules to try and pin back my run away lead, it was all to no avail and a comfortable 2-0 victory was achieved, thus allowing me to regain a little of my lost pride following the cycling debacle. 

 

Emma learning from The Swede's school of navigation

 

Some late afternoon pampering in the spa prepared us for the main event of the day, a 14 course extravaganza in The Dining Room. 

 

The food, as you would expect was impressive and Emma elected to have the "wine flight" menu to accompany the delicious food. This entailed 7 different wines from around the world. Me for one, would have been giggling like a school girl after 2 glasses but Emma managed to hold herself together very well, however the snoring later was an unwelcomed side effect, though it didn’t seem to bother her too much.

 

Monday 17^th July

After tea and the opening of presents in bed, a lovely full English breakfast was taken sat outside overlooking the vegetable garden.

Desperate to avenge the trouncing on the croquet lawn the day before, Emma insisted on a return match before we headed home. For a brief moment, I thought that as it was her birthday I should let her win, but that crazy thought was quickly dismissed once we got started and whilst an improved performance was given by the birthday girl, the result was never really in doubt.

 

Let the battle commence

 

An uneventful drive home led to continued celebrations for Emma with friends and family and provided the perfect end to a fantastic weekend.

Foot note on treatment: The decision has been made to have the neck dissection and get rid of the string of Lymph nodes on the right hand side of my neck, taking away with it any doubt as to whether the cancer has gone.  The last step on my trip down cancer lane is on Tuesday 25th July - in hospital for 2 nights and recovery of 2 weeks.

The Story Runs On...

As things start to settle down after what can only be described as a challenging period in the new, expanded Marsh family I cannot help but look back at some of the key decisions made over the past 18 months and wonder if all of the facts had been known, would those considerations have ended in the same result.

We now know that it is almost certain that when I proposed to Emma, I already had early stage throat cancer.  If I had known this would I have still popped the question?  Damn right I would – I cannot imagine going through the treatment without her.  So let’s park the fact that we have identified that I’m a selfish, weak, lily livered, inconsiderate dick and move on to Emma.

So I pop the question and as she peers down at the aging old git on bended knee in front of her, what would have gone through her mind if she was aware of the cancer growing inside me.

Jesus, this is going to be awkward.  I hope he doesn’t cry. Thinking on her feet she blurts out, “It’s not you darling honestly, it just all those years of playing hockey and I think I’ve been hiding my true sexuality.”

Obviously my mind immediately turns to a three way, before snapping back to the reality of the painful rejection.

So let’s assume that my dazzling personality and boyish good looks prove enough to win the fair maidens hand and we decide to tie the knot.  There was another knot to be tied when we decided to try for a baby – would we really have gone ahead with the vasectomy reversal knowing I had cancer.  We both strongly feel at the very least we would have put that decision on hold whilst the good fight was fought and then you have to say that the probability is that we never would have had George (as Georgina is affectionately known).

So enough of the “what if’s” - we do have George and the amount of joy she brings not only to me and Emma but to our wider family is immeasurable and we are both so thankful that we never had the knowledge of the enemy within to cloud our minds.

I have also ruminated on more than one occasion as to what must have gone through Emma’s mind when she found out that I had cancer.  Remember at this point in time she was less than four months into married life, was pregnant with George and about to exchange contracts on the sale of her much loved home as we had found the perfect family house in Marlow in which we were planning to build our future together.

There is no way of avoiding swearing here, “shit, what have I done, I didn’t sign up to this. I assumed at least 20 years, possibly 30 and may be even 40! Widowed within the first year was not what I had in mind, the selfish twat.”

However those secret thoughts never once surfaced and the love and support she showed me through those dark times, whilst can never be repaid, will never be forgotten.

On to the latest on the long running medical saga. The long awaited PET scan to revisit the lymph nodes in my neck happened last week and whilst it has not shown any deterioration, it has basically remained the same (i.e. very slightly above normal reading for blood activity on one node).

The decision therefore is to continue to monitor and re-scan again in 3 months or to have an operation and whip the buggers out.  Whilst the strong probability is that the lymph nodes are free from cancer, this is not guaranteed and even if they are clear now, the cancer could return.  Therefore the likelihood is that I will have them removed but that decision will not be taken for definite until after a further review of the scan results between the ENT surgeon (the dashing Mr Stuart Winter) and the radiologist.

The story runs on….

Trips to the dark side

The past few months since my treatment has finished have flown by and I think I have done a pretty good job of confining the "what if" box to a deep and dark recess at the back of my mind. 

On the odd occasion I would slowly lift the creaking lid just enough to peek in.  Looking past the cobwebs and particles of dust disturbed from their slumber, I would briefly glance in to the cold and damp darkness as I considered a possible negative scenario when the results from my re-scans are finally presented.

 

These few and far between trips to the dark side never lasted long as I would quickly slam the lid shut, dismissing the thoughts as unhelpful and unlikely as I recite my affirmation that this cancer is not going to beat  me.

As D-day approached however and in particular during the week leading up to the results, my self-control waned as I allowed myself to wrestle with the possibility that cancer was still with me and late at night lying in the darkness, eyes wide open, the possibility of the poison having spread to other areas of my body ran riot in my imagination.

The effects of the treatment had been brutal and as I have made such huge progress with respect to the level of pain I am having to endure the thought of revisiting this with further treatment started to play on my mind. In recent weeks with pain levels finally reducing I had managed to wean myself off Morphine completely and I am slowing reducing the levels of Ibuprofen and Paracetamol still needed to help manage the now relatively mild but constant discomfort in my mouth and throat.

Then there was the food, for several months I was on liquids only and lost one-and-a-half stone of weight that I could ill afford to lose, leaving me looking so skinny that if I were to swallow a marble I would look pregnant.  Now though I can eat a broad spectrum of "normal" foods and enjoy the experience.  Only last night Emma and I had our first proper "date night" at a restaurant since the treatment started way back in October and I tucked in to some amazing food including a rib-eye steak, chips and veg.  Only 4 weeks ago the prospect enjoying a 3 course meal at a lovely restaurant was way beyond my comprehension.  How would I possibly cope with revisiting the torture chamber of treatments with their debilitating effects. A step backwards now would surely break me.

Finally the day arrived, Thursday 13th April, two days after the scans had been taken, there Emma and I were yet again following a path well trodden to the Churchill Hospital in Oxford to meet with the charming Dr Ketan Shah, to hear him deliver one of the two scenarios that had been played out in my head over the past week.  Either I was to be given the all clear or I was to be told the treatment had not been successful and that I still had traces of cancer in my body.

Over several months and many meetings both Emma and I had got to know and like Ketan and so when he collected us from the waiting room and lead us through the maze of corridors we both tried to study his body language and general demeanour to get a hint as to what news was about to be delivered - the good or the bad.  After the meeting we both agreed based on the body language we were expecting the bad.

So it turns out that Ketan must have been one hell of a poker player in a former life because his dead-pan approach during what seemed like a very long walk was disguising a message of what was overall very good news.

Key points are that there is no physical sign of the cancer which would have shown up on the CT scan.  It's gone and the lymph nodes are all back within the normal range when it comes to size.

The PET scan which shows up blood cell activity and hence any particular hot spots where the body may be fighting infection or disease was all looking normal except for around one lymph node where it was "ever so slightly above the normal range". The professional opinion of Ketan was that this is probably just the node still settling down after the treatment and 90% certain that in a few months it will have settled to within normal and no further action required.

As we probed to get answers as to what this all meant, Ketan explained that I was cancer free but they, reassuringly, don't like to take any chances and so in 2 months time I shall return to the hospital for another PET scan to confirm that activity is then within the bounds of normal.

This begged the question, what if it's not and very matter-of-factly, it was explained that they would simply remove the set of lymph nodes on the right side of my neck and that would be without doubt the end of it. Not a major procedure apparently with a few days in hospital and a couple of weeks recovery. The message however was very much that it is unlikely that things will goes this route and that I am currently cancer free.

So as the news sinks in it is slowly turning to relief but we will save the champagne for 2 months time! :-)

Food and Follicles

The expectation had been set by my oncologist that the chemo drug I was to receive would not make my hair fall out, which was a minor relief in the overall scheme of things.  What he most certainly didn’t tell me was the effect that the radiotherapy would have on various follicles on my head, face and neck.

So let’s deal with the face and neck first, now I was never what you could call a heavily stubbled man, I have always thought that the extremely light growth that I exhibited went someway in helping me maintain my boyish good looks.  However my volumes of growth on my cheeks and neck currently are about on par with a pre-pubescent teenager.

The right side of my face and neck, the side where the cancer festered, is completely bereft of any hair growth at all. You know the expression as smooth as a baby’s bottom, well in this instance it really is the case. If we carried out a blind touch test, you really wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between my right cheek and Georgina’s backside.  The left side is not much better but I do have one patch of growth just below the side burn. I swear if I tried to grow a beard I would look like a cross between Worzel Gummidge and a Cabbage Patch Doll.

But wait there is a strange twist to this thread. So I have absolutely no facial hair on my right cheek/neck and virtually none on my left, yet above my top lip, since the treatment ended, has displayed a considerably heavier growth pattern.  I have gone from being able to not shave for a day and no one would notice to this permanent five o’clock shadow over my top lip.

When discussing this phenomenon with Emma a few weeks ago, she helpfully pointed out that indeed it did look strange and that I would look like a 1980’s porn star if I left my top lip unshaven for a few days. Ignoring the ridicule for a minute, I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of childhood my new wife had been exposed to.  A quick bit of mental arithmetic told me that at the end of the 80’s she would have just turned 12, how the hell did she even know what a 1980’s porn star looked like. Had she, at a very tender age, somehow stumbled across a stash of her father’s “special interest” VHS cassettes? Her natural enquiring mind driving her to load the VHS recorder and press down the heavy play key only to be confronted by Debbie Does Dallas and other Oscar nominated classics. I shook my head to empty it of these ridiculous thoughts.

The facial hair does seem to be a bit of a moving feast, as just this week I have a new patch of growth appearing.  Imagine a perfectly formed inverted equilateral triangle of bristles sitting neatly below my bottom lip and you will not be far off.  With Emma away in Cornwall this week, she is in for a surprise when she returns, she will think that D'artagnan has moved in with her – wishful thinking on her account one thinks.

The dashing D'artagnan

I have suggested to Emma now that it appears I may actually be able to grow a half decent moustache, that I do so for Movember this year.  I am not sure this is a sensible suggestion and will see if I am brave enough to withstand the huge amount of stick I would quite rightly get from various mates.  If I do undertake the challenge and start to resemble a 1980’s porn star then I will need a porn star name to which I am open to any suggestions you may have. The old adage that you take your first pet’s name along with your Mother’s maiden name means I would be Ruff Doherty, which I think has a certain ring to it.

That addresses the front of house, so now let’s move on to the hair on the back of my head. The radiotherapy beams entered me from one side and exited my head at the back just passed my ear at the base of my skull. The lasertron (as I have come to call it) is extremely precise and with the gimp mask holding  me in the exact same position on each of the 30 treatments, the beams entered and exited me in precisely the same place everytime.  The exit point was through my skull and I found out half way through the treatment that hair doesn’t like radio beams and so I have a flawless square bald patch of about 5 x 5cm’s on the back of head (luckily at the base of my hair line rather than in the middle of my head). In fact the patch is not completely bald as there is some light fluffy stuff still covering the skin, however to the casual by passer it looks like I have had some precision hair art work carried out to form this perfect razor edged square of baldness.

On my last trip to the barbers and without any reference to me the barber tried to even up the look across the back of my neck and so now I cannot decide if I look like GI Joe or some sad 53 year old trying to be down with the kids.

 

How do you do, fellow kids?

 

Moving on to the food side of things.  One of the toughest things that I have had to deal during my treatment with was my inability to eat solid food for more than 2 months.  Living on the dreaded “Ensure” shakes each containing around 300 calories, I was supposed to be shoveling down 8 a day.  I don’t know about Ensure, they should have been called Endure as I really disliked them and found it tough to get 8 down me in a day. But if I needed any encouragement to drink them, I didn’t have to look far, my new wife and the clan of Townend women (mum and two sisters) were all on hand to encourage me  (i.e. nag the living day lights out of me) to ensure I got my fill of Endures.

Then in more recent weeks (probably 6 or so) I have taken to solid foods once more, slowly at first but as each week has passed I have managed to get more solids down which in turn meant I could reduce the Endures.  You would have thought that now I was eating solids the “encouragement” might ease off a little.  How foolish of me, oh no Mein Führer Emma Marsh had other ideas and has instigated a brutal feeding regime in an attempt to put back on my skeletal frame the 1.5 stone I have lost during treatment. And when I say skeletal frame I mean it.  The other morning having exited the shower I spotted what I could only describe as a concentration camp survivor staring back at me.

So the daily feeding frenzy consists of 2 x Endure shakes, breakfast, mid-morning snack, lunch, mid-afternoon snack and dinner. Now that may sound all well and good but when for over two months you have survived on nothing but liquids, the stomach shrinks and you completely lose your appetite.

At times I wondered if this was what it felt like for the poor geese being force feed corn to fatten them up in order to make foie gras from their expanded livers.

Anyway one positive thing on the eating front is that most foods now taste OK with various exceptions, primarily anything with spices or vinegar is a big no as it sets my mouth on fire.  Just last weekend, having clear a plate of fish of chips on the Friday night (salt but no vinegar), I got over confident and as Emma was out, suggested to my older two daughters (I wasn’t sure Georgina was quite ready yet) that we get a takeaway curry.  I felt sure that a creamy korma would go down OK, but I can assure you that I will not be trying that again for a very long time.  It felt like I was eating an extra hot chicken phall. After one taste my mouth was on fire, I started sweating like a pregnant nun and my mouth stung as though a swarm of angry hornets had lay siege to it.

So I am pleased to report that in general I have made huge steps on my road to recovery, particularly over the past 2-3 weeks.  I still have some stubborn ulcers in my mouth and my throat and mouth get extremely dry very quickly if I do not take on water, but in general I am in a really good place, if still a little (a lot really) too skinny.

I have even started back at work, only from my home office and not full time yet, but that will follow in the coming weeks.  I forgot quite how much I enjoy my work and what a great bunch of people I work with and as for the senior executives, they have been so incredibly supportive of me during this time, something I will always be extremely thankful for.

Anyway the next big steps in my recovery are the April reviews, I have a date for the MRI scan and I'm waiting on the date for the all important PET scan for around the same time.  Once those results are in we will see the oncologist to review them and find out if I get the all clear or if further treatment is needed.

I will post an update as soon as I have the results.  I have had so many words of support and encouragement from people following my blog, all of which have really helped me through the past few months, so I feel it is only fair that I share with you the news be it good or bad.

Here’s to good news in April.

 

PS. Just between you and me, with Emma being away for 8 days as much as I am missing her and Georgina, I have not missed having to poof those bloody cushions each night. Better make sure I do a good job Sunday evening.

Shhh, mum's the word

Radio Silence - an apology

I feel that I owe an apology for going radio silent for so long on the blog.  I have been asked on a few occasions by various followers as to when would the next instalment be posted and so here it is and apologies for the delay.

The simple fact is that my cancer treatment has taken its toll and the whole process has certainly been a lot tougher than I imagined. The chemo sessions seem a dim and distant memory but the effects of the radiotherapy treatments are still there, like a nagging wife constantly chipping away at my very being.  

The effects of the radiotherapy are heightened by the soft and sensitive tissues of the mouth and throat and are aggravated by the need to continue to eat and drink despite the pain involved. If however it ultimately does the job I will be thankful and in time the nagging witch will also be consigned to a deep and dark corner of my mind and I will be able to start enjoying life again.

Christmas and New Year passed in a morphine induced blur with me spending most of the time in bed experiencing some rather strange dreams and a few hallucinations, with everyday objects in the bedroom appearing cartoon like or seeming to move unaided across the room. Whilst I am still on Morphine (along with Paracetamol, Ibuprofen and Aspirin) my dosage has now reduced greatly and my dreams have returned to far more mundane matters.

My daily regime includes taking my temperature to ensure my body is not showing signs of fighting  infection. Even picking up a cold can lead to serious complications as my body’s immune system is on its knees due to the extreme nature of the treatment.  Unfortunately in the New Year due to my body exhibiting a raised temperature I was taken into hospital where I spent 6 days at the end of my course of treatment, firstly on a general ward but then as I was diagnosed with a strain of flu, in a private room.

Whilst not the best thing in the world, being hospitalised certainly made the last few radiotherapy sessions easier, as each morning looking like Wee Willie Winkie I wandered through the corridors of the hospital to the dreaded torture chamber to don my gimp mask for the final few sessions of treatment. 

I certainly didn’t miss the 40 minute each way trip to and from Oxford which on more than one occasion resulted in me standing at the side of a road bringing up what little contents I had in my stomach. On one trip having almost made it home, I had to demand that the car be stopped immediately. As I rapidly made my exit on to the lovely residential street in central Marlow, I frantically looked for somewhere to discretely make my deposit but alas, some things wait for no man and so leaning against a garden wall an extremely thin crust pavement pizza was presented.  As the curtains twitched and passers-by crossed to the other side of the road, I couldn’t help but wonder what they must have thought.   For sure none of them would have thought, “I bet he’s going through cancer treatment the poor chap” no it was probably more like “well I jolly never, the standards in Marlow are slipping somewhat, why only yesterday I saw a homeless man in the high street and now an alcoholic stumbling down Glade Road at 10 o’clock in the morning, whatever next”.

The timing of my hospitalisation provided some benefits as we were rapidly approaching the due date for the arrival of my third daughter and having me safely tucked up in the Churchill Hospital brought Emma some peace of mind and gave her one less thing to worry about.

As it happened Georgina was born on the 10^th January, the day after my last Radiotherapy treatment so there was double cause to celebrate that week. Whilst under strict instructions from Emma not to travel the 10 minute journey from my hospital bed at the Churchill to the John Radcliffe where Georgina was born, wild horses wouldn’t have stopped me from holding the latest addition to the Marsh clan on the day she was born.  So with the help of one of Emma’s sisters I made a brief surprise visit and got to see both Emma and Georgina whilst they were still in the recovery room.   Georgie came in at 8lb 10oz and despite only having been in the world for less than an hour looked absolutely amazing – and so I gave a little celebratory jig as clearly the Marsh love beans had struck again, producing yet another beautiful girl!

Georgina at home with a couple of the very many lovely companions she has received as gifts.

Emma went home with Georgina on the morning of the 12^th January and it seemed a long wait for me to get discharged and be able to join them on the evening of 13^th.

On the subject of beautiful girls my two older daughters were desperate to come over and meet their new sister but unfortunately they both had been suffering with colds/flu and we felt terrible in having to make them wait a few days before they could visit.

I really wasn’t too sure how they would both react to having a baby sister but I needn’t have worried.  They both clearly adore her and are amazing with her. 

Just last weekend Emma invited Milly to do her first nappy change and anyone who knows Emma will know when she “asks you”, it’s not optional it’s more like an order from a Commandant in the SS and so like a condemned man on his way to the gallows Milly followed Emma upstairs. By all accounts Milly did a great job though apparently she got off lightly as it turned out to be one of the cleaner nappies we have seen.  Better luck next time J

Megan also got to do her first bottle feed and so all in all we had a lovely few days together.

So just to finish off with an update on my progress. Generally huge positive steps have been taken since completing the treatment though the slightest task (an hour or two at the laptop, a short walk with the pram etc.) leaves me feeling exhausted and needing rest. Whilst the throat and mouth is generally progressing well there is one area that has not really improved and in fact in the past few days has deteriorated slightly.  If I spend more than a few minutes talking the mouth gets very painful – great I hear a few of my nearest and dearest shouting , no more long rambles from Marshy.  I have been told that often the painful lesions that result from Radiotherapy can take several months to completely clear up and in fact can reappear again later (I look forward to that one!).

In summary the recovery is going to be a lot longer than I naively expected and the oncologist recently said it will be 9 -12 months before I feel anywhere near to fully recovered.

The next big milestone is the middle of April when follow up MRI and PET scans will take place and these will tell us if everything is looking clear or, dread the thought, further treatment is required.

One very positive sign is that the lump in my neck has completely gone with the oncologist admitting he can no longer locate it when conducting a physical examination last week.

I will leave it at that for now and wish you all health and happiness for 2017.