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A lot has happened between the two months of my last two brain scans. Ingrid and I celebrated our first decade together. We forgot forgot to celebrate my second '14.6 month' (GBM median life expectancy) anniversary—888 days! A couple of inspirational (and older) friends passed away. Starting my PhD research I bumped into an old foe: statistical analysis. Ernie mastered new skills: the art of running while adorably (but firmly) shouting 'no'. ... time marches on ... The tumour? No surprises, it's still there. Growing? Most likely. Badly? Difficult to assess, even for the doctors. Again, the latest medical report feels like a nervous balancing act between 'concerning' and, to synthesise, very-slightly-mildly-tiny. Something is happening...... very, very slowly. Physically, I still feel like it's not there. We're still being advised by outstanding doctors (well... at least not by this guy). As ever, treatment alternatives available for when they're needed. ... time marches on ... A friend was asking how much the tumour has slowed me down in triathlons. I responded: not at all. I feel like it's given me the motivation to push harder. In fact, I can't wait to race a half-Ironman this weekend. At the same time I feel like I'm terrifyingly and maddingly living out a song I've loved for decades, Metallica's 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' (here's a classical rendition, here a rawer one). I like to think I've got a better shot than the five guys facing imminent death in the Hemingway-inspired song. But the chill, raging glow, stiffened wounds, shattered goals, ruthless cries… the will to be. Well, it's all there. Time marches on.  Comments are closed.
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