Ex limbo

Not, you will be glad to hear an end to my inglorious career in dancing under low bars. Not that I am unfamiliar to low bars, but generally they offer a little more support than the dancing sort.

Nor yet the religious limbo, which I confess I don't understand at all, but strongly suspect that after a lifetime of atheism I am ineligbible.

I guess that means that my limbo is more slangy than either of these and means only a state of uncertainty which could go either of two ways.

My particular limbo has followed the end of the effectiveness of my wonderdrug Afatinib.

There is another drug, known to its admirers as Osmertinib. To be prescribed this my tumour had to be biopsied and there was (perhaps still is) a little more than a 50% chance that Osmertinib would be active against the mutated cells currently frolicking unfettered in my lungs and elsewhere.

Well the biopsy has failed to produce any cancerous cells. I don't want to go in to this in any more detail; any comments would certainly be libellous,  would probably be inaccurate, and in any case unhelpful.  We are where we are. Anyway I don't want to dent my adoration of our NHS

We now await a meeting with Dr Adamson, oncologist of note

There is still a chance that we can ask for a second biopsy and perhaps still gain access to WD2. 

There is a secondary treatment, a mixed chemotherapy, which I have done too little to learn about.  It seems to have more side effects and less chance of positive result. Thinking about it will make me think seriously about quality and quantity of life. I am happy to crawl through barbed wire to spend a year or three in the health I have enjoyed since my first diagnosis, but I am much less keen to accept a few more months as an invalid. (Although I have to say that I have no knowledge of the clinical value of crawling through barbed wire as a treatment. Metaphor alert again)

So here we are, not really out of limbo and for a few hours at least less positive, less humerous than usual.

Love you all.