After Cyril

I'm typing this with a broken finger. I've recently been getting back into BJJ, but ironically, I injured myself while I was out trail running yesterday. I'm beginning to think there's someone out there with a voodoo doll and my name on it! I'd just about got over the problems with my abscessed tooth and I'm still working on my post chemo health and fitness. Two miles into my run yesterday, I tripped on a rock and fortunately - or so I thought - I landed on soft ground. Not so fortunately, I broke my fall with my little finger, which twisted at an angle it's not designed to twist. I dusted myself down, inspected the damage (it did not look good) and carried on with the 4 miles back to the car. X rays later confirmed my fears and I now have a splint on my left hand. After the year I've had, I wasn't even that surprised. So it's back to showering with a carrier bag and, sadly, no jiu-jitsu for a while. I'd been thinking, before my latest escapa...

It's been two months since I completed my treatment, rang the bell and closed my first blog - Letters to Cyril. I've been thinking about following it up for a while now, because the recovery doesn't end when treatment finishes. Admittedly, the loss of my Mum had a big impact on the anti climactic feelings I experienced when I had my final dose of chemotherapy. But I've also learned it's normal to feel that way and many cancer survivors report the same. There's something about the loss of security and structure that comes with the end of treatment. In the beginning, while the risk is high, you are made to feel important by the medical team. You feel that you are in safe hands. As you start to get better, that comfort blanket is removed. It's a strange experience. You envisage walking out of the hospital and punching the air. Picking up where you left off. But the journey has changed you. I've had a couple of therapy appointments recently to try and proces...