16-32-64 seven

I'm not quite 32 today, but not far off. I'm back on daily steroids which had me waking up feeling a lot better, and more so once I'd had today's dose and some breakfast.

On my way home from Oncology and noticed something on my discharge sheet - weeks in treatment: 83. I never think of this stuff in weeks, just in sections - first time I had radiotherapy, when I was first in chemo, the period of two breast surgeries, the clear bit when hormonals were doing enough... But overall it's about 19 months. Times that by four and a half weeks per month and you do indeed get 83.That's weird.

Great news is that my tumour markers (found in blood tests that I have every three weeks) are still going down which is an indicator that the scans (due in two weeks) will be good news. I've asked for  brain MRI to check on my brain metastasis since I'm going under the CT scanner for the torso anyway, and that's been agreed.

I'm on my way home now - a slightly silly roundabout way because I couldn't bare to sit in London Bridge station for twenty minutes. This will take about the same time but at least I'm moving - and I might get a Burger King chicken royale with cheese on the way through.

This evening is going to be a bit tough - old Freckles - 19 years - is off to the great catnip field in the sky. He was my cat through my teens, and I watched him born when I was eleven to our first cat Charlie - who also lasted until very recently. He's lived with mum and Ed and had a wonderful life, but he's more a worry than anything now - so thin and doddery, we know riddled with cancer and it's simply time. We love you, old man.