I knew there was something familiar about 19 July, yet when I looked in my diary today there was nothing scheduled. Then onto my Facebook page came a memory from last year, when I'd posted a post-surgery x-ray image of my lungs. Ah - it's that anniversary again. The x-ray is on this blog somewhere, showing how my thorax had rearranged itself with everything below the diaphragm vying for additional space. I can't recall if I told you last year, but I have the distinct impression that my oesophagus is now slightly angled towards the right, which would make sense if my stomach has wangled itself a bit more room.
As far as I know, and how do we ever know, I am cancer free. Life in those intervening 12 years has been eventful with the loss of my second parent and a couple of years ago a house move to nearer our family and all that comes with that. Yes, it was stressful and I strongly recommend nobody over 70 years moves house. You're just not physically and mentally quite so adjustable at that age as you were in your 30s.
It is lovely here, seeing grandchildren every day - we now have 9 in total. Looking back I see we were in the grip of a heatwave this time last year but I do recall just how hot it was in July 2011 when Vladimir gave me my life back. Not only had I survived the grim reaper I was several stone lighter. I only wish I could find it easy to return to the austere diet that gave me a size 14 bottom that summer. I was stupid to let weight pile on again and maybe, just maybe, when I update you again next July (or maybe sooner) I'll have achieved that size 14 bottom once more.
In the meantime, dear reader, thanks for getting this far through my ramble here. I metaphorically and maybe actually this evening, raise my glass to my wonderful consultant and surgeon and all those other folk who cared for me during my treatment in a toast of gratitude. Here's to you all you fabulous NHS people!
