I promised some more detail about the first chemo treatment in Victoria. Overall, it was the same as Darwin - only different!

In Gippsland it is normal practice to see the oncologist at the cancer centre on the day of chemo. In Darwin we saw him at his rooms the week before.

In Gippsland you are given private prescriptions for all your chemo-related drugs other than the infusions themselves. In Darwin these are supplied at the time of chemo.

In Gippsland you are asked what you want for lunch and have the option of a hot meal. In Darwin they come around with a crate of packaged sandwiches.

In Darwin, they offer to feed companions and carers. In Gippsland they don't.

In Darwin there are tea/coffee/fridge/microwave facilities facilities including 'help yourself' sweet and savoury biscuits. In Gippsland there is tea/coffee facilities but biscuits are delivered personally at morning and afternoon tea times and are 'for patients only'!

In Darwin, Sue's name was recorded properly as Susanne. In Gippsland it was variously recorded as Susan and Suzanne, and she was persistently called Susan.

[On this point, Sue usually let's the mispronouncement of her name ride. On this occassion, having seen that it was actually written incorrectly on her notes, she corrected the nurse and pointed out the error in the records. The nurse dutifully went away and then came back saying that the correction had been made and new stickers had been printed. She then attached a hospital writband to Sue that recorded here name as Susannne. This was a new variation - three Ns!! On this being pointed out to the nurse (with a laugh) she apologised and said (with a smile) "I can fix that" and proceeded to get her pen and scribble out TWO of the Ns. So Susan/Suzanne became Susannne then became Susane. Is it any wonder she sticks with Sue in normal circumstances? As a wryly amusing end to this little saga, it turned out to be 'quality audit day' in the chemotherapy centre so later a woman came around to check Sue's wristband, ask her her full name and date of birth and posed the question "Have the nurses asked you for your full name and date of birth every time you have been given a drug or infusion?". The simply answer was "Yes". Sue attempted to give the 'fuller' answer including an explanation of the scribbled out Ns on her wrist band (which was never corrected) but the auditor seemed non-plussed and had no box on her form for that. She left a bit confused saying "well you know who you are, right?" We think/hope that she was making a little joke!]

Other than these minor issues/differences, the chemotherapy proceeded as expected including the connection (and removal 2 days later) of the 'pump' (the focus of earlier blog post).

Despite the differences, both Gippsland and Darwin share important characteristics including staff skill and knoweldge, personality and 'bedside manner', competence in the practical stuff of delivering the chemotherapy service, and genuine care. We couldn't ask for more really. It is wonderful to have the sort of health care system in Australia that allows us to confidently travel and still get quality care - with all but small amounts covered by Medicare. In this at least we are still 'the lucky country'.

Sue is enduring the consequences of the chemo OK. The most significant visible side effect is an itchy acne-like skin rash on her face and scalp. This is absolutely common for the particular drug, so much so that the oncologist gets worried when patients dont develop it as he think that drug may not be having any effect! The chemo nurse asked Sue whether she already had 'a pack' for the rash. Sue didn't really know what sort of 'pack' she was talking about (a poultice? playing cards? rucksack? hyenas?) but knew the answer was "no". The response was to be presented with a very nice and well made 'wet pack' full of shampoo, conditioner, sunblock, lip balm and special moisutrizing cream together will a booklet, CD and USB drive full of information about the treatment, the side efects and how to manage them. This was a gift from the drug company. I guess if I was selling a product that make you feel crappy and develop an itchy skin rash and sun sensitivity, I might try and 'sweeten the pot' with some freebies too!!

The collage below captures a bit of the recent experience including what Sue has for breakfast instead of muesli now!

As I sign off, Sue and the rest of our family sleep very nearby. It was a big night last night as we travelled by Melbourne tram to the Regency Theatre to see Lion King. What a production! What a joy to share it with our children and their spouses. What a relief to survive 'big city' commuting!

We join in declaring 'HAKUNA MATATA' and affirming that in and through everything 'life is good, it is good indeed'.

A bit has happened in the last week or so. We are enjoying being in our 'southern home' but feeling the distance as the Top End copes with TC Lam. It is currently passing almost directly over two of the remote Indigenous communities in which NT Christian Schools operates schools (Gawa and Mapuru), and close to a third (Nhulunbuy). I know it is a being handled well by my colleagues but part of me struggles with not being there sharing the burden.

The first few days here were focused on painting, furnishing and 'styling' our second bedroom. All these building/renovation shows really put the pressure on those of us who previously thought a 'throw' was something you did to a cricket ball or rock rather than a decorative fabric adornment to a bed or lounge!! We were happy with the result of just 3 days work, as were those who have used the room since. Here is a 'before and after' comparison.

In stark contrast to previously, we have barely been alone since arriving here. Sue's two older sisters and their husbands, and her Dad and Mum have been visiting during the last week. Their arrival and departure was staggered a little but we had the rare joy of all being together, and in 'holiday mode', over last weekend. We all enjoyed a gourmet BBQ dinner hosted by Tessa and Jim last Sunday. It was a rich family time indeed.

In the middle of all this, we have had to manage the inevitable medical demands. Last week we had an initial visit with a local Yarragon GP. We were impressed with her and the Yarrragon Medical Centre. In consultation, Sue's base level pain relief has been increased. We also had to discover options, processes and timelines for pre-chemo blood tests. To be safe, we went to Warragul (15kms away) but have now discovered we can do the next one locally (100m away). Good to know!!

On Wednesday, we had the first visit to the Gippsland Cancer Care Centre at the Latrobe Regional Hospital in Traralgon. We saw an oncologist at 10.00am before presenting at the Chemotherapy Suite for 'the full treatment'. We left at about 4.00pm after spending a lovely day together focussing on each other and enjoying the constant and fastidious 'hospitality' of the medical and ancillary staff. It is a strange thing indeed, but Sue and I have come to recognise that there is something quite special and enriching about the chemo days. Despite all that surrounds them, they are (strangely) a time of intimacy and joy for us. It was a bonus that Tessa was able to take a slightly extended lunch hour and visit during the process.

 I am blessed to have two beautiful and impressive women in my life!

This post is probably long enough. We do not want to bore you, or tire you out!  There is more to tell about the Gippsland chemo experience and Sue's progress, but that will have to wait until the next exciting episode....

Thank you to all who lodged their solutions to 4 Pictures - 2 Words. The two words I had in mind were SHADE and GREEN. As you will see from the now-published comments, you are a smart lot, though it seems some of you may have over-thought it a bit! You were ALL at least half right. Congratulations.

In my games there are no winners - just people who enjoyed participating! Having said that, Jenny Martin (Sue's sister) was the first to correctly post the 2 words.

It may surprise you to know that even in such a small thing as joining in a game, Sue and I feel the joy of being surrounded by people who love and care. Perhaps it is a good reminder to us all that small acts of connection and interaction can have big positive impact - even a word, or 2 Words!

Blessings to you all.

PS: I am working on 4 Pictures - 3 Words but my brain is starting to hurt.....

I promise I wont carry this on endlessly, but here is a challenge for those of you who enjoyed the 4 Pictures - 1 Word game. This one has at least 2 solutions. IN other words, there are at least two single words that each relate these 4 pictures. Hint: this has nothing at all to do with Sue, me, the journey or anything in particular!

Annette got in first last time.... Who will be today's smarty pants?

PS: When you post your answer in the comments section, I will hold off 'publishing' them for a bit so others also post their answers. I will then release all the answers together and announce the winner.

Enjoy!

Well done everyone. Your puzzle-solving skills far surpass my puzzle-making abilities. Yes, the word was PUMP (pool PUMP, black PUMPs, fist PUMP and PUMP iron).

I was thinking about the word pump because Sue had one fitted for 48 hours last week - and it turned out not to be at all like what we expected. The primary dictionary definition of 'pump' is a device that moves fluids (liquids or gases), or sometimes slurries, by mechanical action.

The oncologist told us that Sue was to be fitted with a pump that infused one of the chemotherapy drugs slowly over two days. A device that does that job certainly fits the definition of pump above, but we both imagined it would be something that had batteries, moving parts, buttons, maybe a readout, perhaps clicked or beeped or made the odd sound, was compact but still a bit heavy or inconvenient - all in a 'medical looking' device. I guess that we imagined something like one of these:

Imagine our surprise to discover that our imaginings were constrained by our preconceived notions about pumps in general, and our prior experience with medical pumps in particular. We learned just how wrong intelligent people can be!!

The infusion pump that Sue was fitted with was small, light, had no batteries or other power source, no buttons or screen, no moving parts, was completely silent and was disposable!! In fact, were it not for the fact that it moved fluid from inside itself to inside Sue, I would struggle to recognize it as a pump at all. Here is a picture:

It is about the size of a small baby's bottle (and looks disturbingly similar to one). The outside is hard plastic. Inside is a small 'balloon' filled with the fluid for infusion. I have two theories about how the thing works.

Theory 1
The area outside the balloon is pressurized. There is some simple, non-mechanical, mechanism for regulating the flow of fluid pushed out under pressure to 1.25ml per hour. I am guessing it is a precisely sized hole or mesh or something, but it could well be cleverer than that! Once the line is connected to the patient, the pump is 'started' by removing a cap.

Theory 2
The area outside the balloon is depressurized (a partial vacuum).  Once the cap is removed, air entry is regulated by some simple device (similar to Theory 1) to 1.25ml per hour, thereby squeezing the balloon and dispensing the fluid. Once the line is connected to the patient, the pump is 'started' by removing a cap.

I like Theory 2 as it would work for fluids of different viscosity. The bottle could also be depressurized to different levels to achieve different dispensing rates. I foresee a couple of problems though - without more 'regulation' but would probably operate differently at different altitudes/air pressures. A failure of the air intake regulator would also result in the patient getting all the remaining fluid at once unless some fail-safe was included. Overall, I suspect that it is more likely to be something like Theory 1 that 'powers' the thing.

I haven't quite thought through how the unit copes with 'blood pressure' that would oppose the infusion. This is especially vexing as people have different blood pressures and there is absolutely no adjustment on the pump... Perhaps the pressures involved in the pump itself are sufficient to overcome the patient's opposing blood pressure no matter how high it is. Or maybe there is a 'double non-return valve' system that operates a bit like an airlock.....

If anyone actually KNOWS how these things work, or has a higher degree in fluid mechanics, or is just generally brilliant, creative of intuitive, could you please educate us. Thanks!

What we know is this - the pump was small, light, barely inconvenient, essentially unbreakable (though we did not test its limits), able to be worn in the shower, can be worn in an aeroplane (with a pressurized cabin), and WORKED A TREAT. This is technology at its best!

For those of you who are less interested in engineering and technology and more interested in people! - Sue is doing OK. We went to see a local GP here yesterday and brought her up to speed so she can be part of the 'southern team' caring for Sue. The doctor agreed to our request to increase the base level of Sue's pain medication as we seek a 'happy medium' that allows Sue some freedom to 'do stuff' without too much pain, but doesn't zonk her out or compromise her too significantly in other ways. We are still looking for that balance.

We continue to marvel each day at how blessed we are, and how well supported in every way. Sue is experiencing the increasing joy of finally having me do most of the domestic duties - after 35 years of trying! I have the joy of doing all them in close proximity to, and service of, the woman who I remain deeply in love with, and eternally committed to. She is undoubtedly God's gift to me. She says that she feels the same about me - but I think that is the drugs talking!!

Some of you may be familiar with the game 4 Pictures - 1 Word that is popular with users of smart devices (iPhone, iPad, Galaxy etc). It is a simple concept - you are presented with 4 pictures and have to discern, deduce or guess the single word that relates them all.

As I was thinking about what to write for my next post (this one) I started with an idea that then evolved into me thinking about the game. As a result, I present my 4 pictures below and invite you to provide your 1 word answer in the comments section. No prize is offered other then the internal smug feeling of self-satisfied cleverness - unless you come up with a different applicable word other than the one I have in mind. That may be prize-worthy.

Once the 'game' is completed, I will do another post on the same theme with yet another picture.......

Here are the 4 Pictures. What is the 1 Word? 

Those of you who are Latin language or history scholars, or who just like to amass bits of trivia knowledge, may recognize in the title my first (and probably only) attempt at a joke/pun in Latin.

Apparently when Julius Caesar wrote to the Roman Senate around 46 BC, after achieving victory in his short war against Pharnaces II of Pontus at the Battle of Zela (in what is now Turkey) he proclaimed his success in the short phrase 'veni, vidi, vici' now famously translated as 'I came, I saw, I conquered'.

Sue and I safely settled in our retreat cottage in Yarragon yesterday after a long, tiring but absolutely uneventful trip involving car, legs, airplane, legs, bottoms (waiting), legs, shuttle bus.

We are now pleased to loudly and proudly proclaim 'veni, vidi, dormi' - 'we came, we saw, we rested'!

The effort took its toll on Sue who now has to rely heavily on painkillers and heat-packs to get through the day. She continues to astound me with her capacity and willingness to daily see the joys and blessings (of which there are many indeed) undistorted through the lens of pain.

As many of you will know personally, there is a particular sort of helplessness and emotional toll that is experienced by those love and care for those in constant pain and distress. I am certainly experiencing that at times as I mentally seek the non-existent magic wand that will bring Sue immediate and prolonged physical comfort and release. I am fortunate indeed that Sue usually appreciates my effort, and always appreciates my intent, as I seek to provide support and ease where I can. Our prayer is that we can continue this journey of mutual love, care and grace as the days unfold.

Through it all, Sue continues to look pretty well (and pretty as well!) and we enjoy looking for and finding the joys and blessings that mark each and every day. Perhaps a further tweak on Julius Caesar's model phrase:

veni, vidi, risi

(we came, we saw, we smiled/laughed)

This post comes direct to you from the Alan Walker Cancer Care Centre. It would be fair to say that things have ramped up considerably in the last week.

The most significant change is the level and consistency of pain that Sue has been experiencing. The 'increasing discomfort' that she had in her left side (like 'side stitch' as mentioned in a recent post) became 'full on' to the point that, at its worst, Sue was unable to walk freely (or at all) and could not even lay down. This resulted in her sleeping in her (very comfortable) chair all night on a couple of occasions. This was at its worst over the weekend so pain management options were limited to over-the-counter drugs (paracetamol and codine) unless we escalated it all by a visit to the ER/ED. Given Sue's high pain threshhold and stoic nature, and a covering of prayer, she persevered until we saw the oncologist yesterday. She is now in a pain management regime of a regular 'base level' slow release narcotic (opioid) dose augmented by further 'short acting' narcotic as required. Early days yet, but there is already some improvement (slept in the bed for half of last night!). Good for her - nice for me.

The other outcome from yesterday's visit was a swift response to the presence of the tumour/ulcer in Sue's stomach. The oncologist strongly recommended an immediate start to a new chemotherapy regimen - hence our presence in the AWCCC today. We guessed that this may be the outcome so were happy to roll with it. The new cocktail is delivered by infusion only on a two-week rotation with three visits in each two week period. Day 1 (i.e. today) sees the infusion of 3 drugs and associated 'supporting fluids' and the setting up of a take-home pump that continues the infusion of one drug over the following 48 hours. We return to the Centre on Friday for the Day 3 'decoupling'. Day 8 (Wednesday next week) is a repeat infusion of one of the drugs. The following Wednesday it all starts again! There are some interesting new potential side effects which we will share with you if they become relevant. Hair loss is one of these.

You probably think that that is enough 'ramping up'. Yes? Actually "no"!

We have had airfares booked for a few months to travel to Yarragon VIC on Sunday 8 February and return to Darwin on 5 March. The plans for the time away include 'retreating' at our cottage, spending time with Tessa and Jim, meeting up with Sue's two sisters (and their husbands) and Sue's Mum and Dad for a few days together, our annual (nuclear) family holiday with our three kids and spouses (including seeing the Lion King in Melbourne), and a side trip to a wedding in Adelaide!

From our point of view, these things are at least as important as chemotherapy, arguably more so. We have therefore also spent the last couple of days sorting out how to continue the chemo regimen at the cancer centre at the Latrobe Valley Hospital at Traralgon. This is an easy 30 min drive from our cottage in Yarragon. Enquiries have been made and referrals sent. It is apparently all doable. What a blessing it is that we do not have to fight to convince the oncologist or other medicos of the importance of family!

No doubt the travelling will be somewhat challenging, but armed with the greatly improved pain management regime, a stash of drugs (shhhh!), a strong will, and some flexibility and perseverence, we are pretty confident of pulling it all off and laying down some significant and precious memories in the process.

How humbling it is to have so many people (medical and non-medical) lavishing their loving care and attention on us. It is a profound experience of grace toward us - an unmerited gift - for we have done nothing to deserve it. As one of those who dispenses this grace to us (even just by reading this blog and sharing the journey) our prayer is that you too may be aware of the reality of grace in action in your lives. Bless yuz all.

Today marks one month of me (Geoff) being on leave from the position of CEO of NT Christian Schools. Toward the end of 2014 I sat with my executive team and talked about our shared journey over the preceding 18 months and what the future for Sue & me, and the leadership needs of NT Christian Schools into 2015, looked like. As we discussed, celebrated, shed tears and prayed it became clear that the best course for everyone was for me to take leave as CEO for the whole of 2015. That decision was endorsed by the NT Christian Schools Board. It truly was one of those times when it was a case of "it seemed good to us and the Holy Spirit".

An extract from a message from me to all staff follows:

The decision to take the year off was not a response to a significant decline in Sue’s condition and prognosis, rather a positive decision to set aside time together and focus on enjoying each other while we have the chance.

Of course, none of us know what is around the corner as we travel life’s journey. If we are open to it we are likely to be surprised by the joys God places in our path as much as the griefs and challenges. My experience over the last 18 months has been that they often come hand in hand and are inextricably linked.

What joy it is to love and care
What grief there is when lost
But if our lives we cease to share
How perilous the cost

Receive each day, the joy, the pain
Meet each with certainty
Supported by God’s father heart
Our present days are just a part
Of His eternity

It has been interesting for Sue and me this month as we have adjusted to yet another 'way of being' - but it is good, it is good indeed. We are enjoying the almost complete freedom to make decisions about what we do and when (at least to the extent that the medical demands allow). It would be fanciful to suggest that we have mastered the art of 'living in the moment', but I think that we are progressively learning to see the moments we have missed and improve our anticipation of those that may be coming!  

While not without its discomforts, Sue sailed through her 'invasion by minute camera probes' yesterday. Other than being very tired by the time we got home late afternoon (having been admitted before 8.00am) she was her usual positive smiling self. There is something to be said in favor of suffering personal indignities while unconscious.

We are able to speak with the surgeon before leaving the hospital. He advised that the colonoscopy revealed that what's left of the bowel is still clear of any visible sign of tumor. This is good news. On the other hand, the gastroscopy confirmed the existence of a tumor in the stomach wall. It is apparently about 3cm diameter and 2cm deep and looks ulcerous, ugly and necrotic (thus fulfilling the job description for a tumor!). This is no doubt the cause of bleeding Sue experienced on Christmas Day, and the daily ongoing pain and discomfort.

The location and nature of the tumor, (and the fact that it is not the only presence of the cancer in the body) means that there is much risk, and no great value, in operating to try and remove it. The risk vs benefit just doesn't stack up. There is a moderate danger of future serious bleeding and a more remote chance of perforation of the stomach lining at some point in the future. Either of these would constitute 'an emergency' that would require surgical intervention. Of course, they may also never eventuate. However, if emergency intervention is required, we now know what and where the issue is so can expect a very targeted response! We even get to take a summary away with us when we travel so we can quickly educate an interstate surgeon if necessary. Talk about being prepared!

The way forward in terms of treatment is a return to chemotherapy. We see the oncologist again on Tuesday morning and expect that Sue will likely have a session next week before we go away on Sunday 8th. The next round or two may be interstate while we are way in Victoria and/or Adelaide. That could be interesting..... 

It occurs to me that Sue is now in the strange position of having colorectal (bowel) cancer, but not having it in the bowel anymore - only the liver and stomach. Even so, it is not now liver cancer or stomach cancer as these have different make-up.  

I was thinking about a suitable analogy and realized that it is akin to me who is born and bred in Australia and of 'Australian ethnicity' (whatever that is) going to live permanently in another country. I remain Australian, but have taken up residence in a foreign land. I now realize that Sue has expat (expatriate) cancer - born in the bowel but now permanently residing elsewhere! Unfortunately it seems that it is going to be one of those 'ugly expats' we hear about who tend abuse their adopted home and make a thorough nuisance of themselves.

Getting in touch with our 'inner dag' on Australia Day!

In this new(ish) age of technology assisted social interaction where being far away is no impediment to collaboration....

Our good friend Bruce Burgess has offered a second verse to the Colonoscopy Song. Thanks Bruce!

Doctor, don't be thinking that we've gone mad
Just because we write of the things we do-ooo
It's the most fun we've ever had
Writing songs like this as we think of you-ooo

Sco-ope me, like you just did
Oooo doctor, do it to me once again.

Any takers for verse 3??

If you need some assistance remembering (learning) the tune (and are not too freaked out by 70's fashion and hairstyles) click here for a Youtube clip. Watch out for the use of the recorder in the instrumental break and backing - not a regular occurrence before or since!

Enjoy the clip, then get in touch with your inner song-writer!

As a result of a consultation this afternoon with 'our surgeon' (we think of him as ours because we see him so often that he is like part of the family) Sue is booked in for a gastroscopy (camera down the throat into the stomach) on Thursday next week. Having looked at the scan carefully, he confirms that there seems to be some 'communication' or connection between the tumour, the stomach and possibly the bowel (one of the few bits that are left!). Upon careful consideration he decided to go with the 'package deal' and add in yet another colonoscopy (bottoms up!) at no extra cost.

At this point he is inclined to think that he will not recommend further surgery as a result, but will be well prepared (from the inside out no less) to act quickly and accurately in the event of a perforation or significant bleed in the future.... Hmmm.

So the run of things now is

• a blood test on Friday,
• anesthetist consultation on Tuesday,
• 'internal cleansing process' (don't ask for details) on Wednesday afternoon
• fasting and repeat cleansing on Thursday early morning
• admission to Darwin Private Hospital Thursday 9.00am for the day procedure
• recovery and rejoicing (and possibly some mild feasting) on Friday.

That has got next week sorted. What are relief! The diary was looking empty and we thought that we might be bored!

In closing, join with us in the colonoscopy song*:

Doctor, do it to me one more time
But take great care pushing through-oooo
Do it to me one more time
I know it can be rough, but I trust you-ooo 

Scope me like you just did
Oooo doctor, do it to me once again.

[repeat - but not too often please!]

* To be sung to the tune of Do It That To Me One More Time by Captain and Tennille 

Chemo was scheduled for 8.30 this morning. These days Sue usually sleeps until after 9.00am so getting up and ready to leave home before 8.00am in a conscious (if not alert) state was a bit of an effort.

We managed to arrive on time and 'booked in' at the desk. We had barely sat down when one of the nurses came out to advise us that they had "just this minute" received an email from our oncologist indicating that our surgeon was wanting to do an endoscopy so the planned chemo treatment as 'off' for this week. She was appropriately apologetic for the unnecessary trip (which was not her fault anyway) and we were appropriately forgiving and reassuring (without even the hint of any murmuring criticism or ill will!). 

By 8.40 we were driving home. Not quite the morning we planned, though Sue doesn't seem all that shattered by the extended 'poison-free period'!

We are now patiently awaiting some direct contact from either/both the oncologist and the surgeon to discuss the endoscopy that Sue is apparently having this week? Stay tuned...... 

On Monday Sue had yet another CT Scan. Getting a line into her vein was a little challenging but after a fair bit of poking (by the technician) and wincing (by Sue) all seemed set to go. Alas, half way through the process the intravenous line sprung a leak. It was not a weeper or a dripper; it was a gusher. Sue came out trying wipe off a wet right arm and pat her shirt sleeve dry. I was somewhat dismissive saying helpful things like "Don't worry, it will dry off" and "Just leave it, it is only water". I was then helped to understand that it was a thick sticky syrup NOT water. I transpired that Sue even had it in her hair which was stiffening as the liquid dried. Images of those sugar coated almonds from my childhood inexplicably danced in my head. Next time we will request a light chocolate drizzle I think!

We saw the oncologist again on Tuesday. The liver lesion has neither increased nor decreased materially since the MRI in early November. That is at least neutral, if not good, news. There is however some increased evidence of activity of the only other visible cancer 'spot' on the left side of Sue's peritoneum (sort of up under the ribs). Sue reports a slowly increasing level of discomfort that feels like "a constant stitch, like you get when running" [That description lead me off into a whole other thought process about why that pain is called 'stitch', what it is that is actually hurting, and why you get it" but I have resisted the urge to investigate for the moment] so the scan results seem to confirm Sue's experience.

Apparently there is some evidence of an air pocket or 'bubble(s)' adjacent to the tumor so that apparently raises the possibility/likelihood that the tumor is (as the oncologist so quaintly put it) 'communicating' with the stomach. He used that term a few times and from it we gleaned the sense that 'communicating' is a bit of a weasel-word that encompasses any and every sort of possible interaction between the tumor and the stomach. He has referred the scans to our surgeon for advice on whether an endoscopic examination (camera down the throat into the stomach to have a look at things from the inside) is warranted.

The oncologist is also keen for us to consider changing the chemo regime to a cocktail of 4 infused drugs (no tablets) on a two week repeating cycle. This would involve three sessions in at the cancer centre every fortnight and a 'take home' pump for infusion of one drug over a 48 hour period. The oncologist expressed some concern about how Sue would tolerate this new cocktail though. We have some reading, thinking, talking and praying to do.

In the meantime, Sue will present herself back at the Alan Walker Cancer Centre on Monday for another round of the current regime - which is now down to just one drug.

In and through all this, Sue continues to look well to the casual observer. She has maintained her weight, complexion, demeanor and generally positive 'it is what it is so let's just get on with it' attitude. She is a deadset legend and I love her to bits.

I encourage you to hug someone today (a blokey sort of hug is OK for men, if necessary) and tell them how much you appreciate them. Don't wait.