Sometimes hope is all I've got

I got another good scan result recently. That's the third one in a row. I'm nervous to say this because I don't want to jinx it but that's an all time record in the "journey" that is this cancer battle I'm doing. I've smashed my previous record, of one, out the park. And by one I don't mean one in a row; I mean one in the previous two years. Before this year I'd had one, only one, good scan result from all the scans I'd had.

Somehow, even though the trend had been a series of bad results, I remained hopeful every single time. Every time I hoped I would be told the tumours were shrinking, that they were responding to the treatment, but that wasn't the case. Scans actually seemed to mean the three monthly meeting to consider the next treatment step. Except that one good scan I had. Before that one I told my oncologist that I knew the tumours had responded to the radiotherapy on my liver. I don't know if I really did know or if that conviction of thought was all that could get me through how ill the treatment had made me, but I was right. I was right for one scan; then the tumours began to grow again. That scan shattered my hope. That scan was the point at which I was told there was no treatment left in New Zealand. That was when I started to wonder if my time was up. My hope started to fade and I struggled to find that light I'd been grasping so desperately before.

After what seemed like a painfully long two months the light reappeared. The light of immunotherapy was weak and far off but it was there, it was something. There was a possible drug, I just needed to make sure I was eligible to try it. My hope returned and with it shocking nerves. Hope had returned and the thought of it going again was too scary to face.

My lovely new immunotherapy drug has been amazing. I'm currently setting my new record of good scan results. A record I intend to continue extending. Stephen Shitbag is almost 2cm smaller than when I started on this drug in January. He doesn't like my boosted up Immuno-warriors. And they don't much like him. I can walk, in fact I can almost run. I'm learning to balance again and finding muscles that are supposed to exist. I'm getting my body back!

As I'm sure most of you can imagine, regaining these things I previously had is an amazing feeling. I start to wonder what I have previously ruled out that may now be an option. Will I work again, could I play a sport, might I travel some more, could I get abs (that one has never happened so I'm not holding my breath), will I one day not live on anti nausea tablets......... ? So many possibilities. And with them comes an amazing fear. Fear of losing the hope of these things once again.

I'm working on this wonderful balancing act of just the right amount of hope to keep me going, keep me striving for more and keep my life exciting. However, not enough to be absolutely gutted that I'm once again grieving a load of things that I no longer think can happen.

It's been an eye opening experience. It has been during this time when I start thinking about something I'd like to do and then getting anxious that I might not be able to do it, that I realised how complex hope is. Hope cannot exist without some opposing emotion. For me it's fear. When I hope for something, I fear not being able to do it. When I feel happy about something, I can only know that feeling when it is compared to sadness. Contentment comes hand in hand with longing. These emotions that are vilified also allow the emotions we love to be a part of us. They allow us to feel the emotions we enjoy.

I am thrilled I have been fortunate enough to feel this hope. Blind hope when the results have been bad. True and terrifying hope now the results are good. I love that fear, it tells me I'm really feeling life. I'm feeling it and choosing to keep hoping, keep fighting and keep living. Hope is the fuel that keeps me going.