IV League

I came up with that last night in bed. IV League, like Ivy League, but it stands for 4 in Roman numerals. Stage IV, metastatic cancer. We are in the IV League.

I dunno, it worked better in my head than it does written down. *Needs work*.

I have been procrastinating, again. 

It has become almost pathological, but I find it funny because I am procrastinating more now than I ever did, and technically I have less time to be messing about. The nettles should be being grasped. The bull should have his horns well and truly grabbed. The iron is bloody scalding and I am just sitting watching it hisssss.

And yet, what's the rush?

A few months ago (almost 4, if we are being pedantic. Or IV, if we are being Caesar), I found out that my belly probably has new cancer in it which was causing fluid to build up in my peritoneal cavity. I mentioned that this particular problem, ascites, makes doctors very certain that things are Not Good. It is always a worry when doctors are certain about things, because they are never certain about such minutiae as what time they will be at their clinic, or which week they are going to fill in your form. So all the doctors (me included) were thinking, "ooh. ascites. bad" (we are very good at Poetry for Neanderthals). 

Lo and behold, perhaps ascites isn't the worst thing to have. 

I had to cancel a trip to Egypt, where I was due to attend the MWIA Congress and be present for the outcome of the election of the next Executive Committee. I was delighted to become the Vice President for the Northern Europe Region of MWIA, and I was able to attend the ExCo meeting via Zoom. It wasn't quite the same as being there, but I felt I was able to participate and contribute, and I am looking forward to being involved in the next Triennium of this hundred-year-old network of medical women. 

I did think a little bit about the ethical quandary of taking on a role which should last three years, when I may find that my health makes it impossible for me to complete that term. And then I thought about all the things I would not have said "yes" to since 2014, if I had taken my prognosis as a fact rather than a whim.

Median survival 15 months. 

That would have meant that anything after February 2016 was out. No trip to Madrid with my fabulous girlies to celebrate our 40ths. No Vienna. No Bilbao. No Doctors' Discos 1, 2 and 3. No Brighton Marathon (I mean he could have done it without me but it wouldn't have been the same).

5 year survival around 13%. So nothing after Nov 2019. 

No WiMIN Conference Numbers 2 to 7. No trip to New York for my first encounter with MWIA. No Postgraduate Diploma or Certificate. No new job(s). No first and last days at primary and secondary school. No snuggles from babies that became cuddles from children and then hugs from full-grown humans. 

So pah to your sage nodding and thoughtful grim-set mouths. 

I have literally no idea what comes next.

Christmas, I guess.