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!

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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.