If Tomorrow Never Comes

I just wanted to post a few words on here ahead of my operation on Wednesday, incase I don't have time to tomorrow. It's the big one, they will remove as much liver as medically possible in the hope it will regrow disease free. I'm very nervous about it, as you know, but also excited to have it done and out of the way. For the first time in so long I will be able to say, "I'm completely clear" - what an amazing prospect!

But I would like to take the time now to say thank you to everyone for their support and messages of prayer and good wishes. Even people I have never met before have been in touch via this blog and my website, to tell me they will be thinking of me.

People ask me how I stay so positive throughout all the set backs and hurdles I have faced, but let me tell you something, it is incredibly difficult to become depressed and lost in self pity when there are so many amazing and supportive people behind you. My family, my boyfriend, my friends and people who I have come across because of this journey have made sure I have been able to keep my head above water, and keep going.

I have been thinking lots recently about the chances of things going wrong while I'm under the anaesthetic, and the chance that I might not wake up. If that's the case, do the people I love know how much I really do love them? Do my friends know how much they truly mean to me, and how they have shaped who I have become today? I hope so. Does my mum know how long ago I would have given up had it not been for her strength and support? How do you put into words how grateful you are for such love?

It's a cliche, and may also at times feel impossible, but it is so important to make sure that when you go to sleep at night everyone you love knows just how much you love them, (even if you feel that you don't particularly like them at that particular time!).

So thank you to everyone who has been keeping up to date with my journey, and has sent messages of support and good luck. I will let you all know how things have gone as soon as I can.

In the mean time, give the people you love a call, and tell them just that xxx

One Day At A Time

Last Friday I saw my consultant. He told me that the previous operation was a success. The damaged part of the liver has been closed off, and as a result the good side has grown an ample amount. There is now a sufficient amount to support my body once they remove all the tumours and damaged part of the organ, and, most importantly, the part that will be left is still disease free.

Brilliant news!

So why don't I feel brilliant, in my head and in my heart?

Don't get me wrong - I am unimaginably relieved, having this operation not only buys me time, it could also potentially be a cure. That side of my liver seems to be unaffected by the disease, and the rest of my body has been clear for eight years now. My liver will grow back to a normal size over the next few months, and if I look after myself - eat right, and exercise lots, I'm sure I can lift the cloud cancer has cast over me for such a long time. For a while at least.

But something still weighs on my mind. And amidst the positivity and optimism I try to maintain, it is difficult to identify what's causing the torment.

Picture Courtesy of PIQ

Some days it is difficult to keep going, it is difficult to stay positive, to pick yourself up and paint on a smile. Some days it is tempting to stay in bed until the whole nightmare is over. I'm dreading this operation. Everything about it. I'm dreading being under the anaesthetic for eight hours, what if I don't wake up? I'm dreading being in hospital for over two weeks, the huge scar that will run from my chest to the bottom of my stomach and across my right side. Having to stay in bed for a month while everyone runs around doing things for me, not able to go to work, not able to live my life. A small price to pay, I know, considering this time last year no one expected me to still be alive today, but I feel so restricted, dictated to, bound. I feel so frightened.

And it is this juxtaposition of emotions that turns endlessly around in my mind. But I have to remember to just take one day at a time. This is a huge, invasive procedure I'm about to have, and I must be honest with myself - there is a huge possibility something may go very wrong. So I must try to live each day before the operation as much as I can. I must enjoy the sunshine while I'm able to feel it on my face, and see all my family and friends making sure they all know how much I love them.

I want this operation more than I can tell you, but I'm unable to adequately tell you why I also want to avoid it. For now though, I'll try to remain positive and look forward to the prospect of being free of cancer again.

I'll take one day at a time.