And so we wait...

Well I don't know what to tell you. We have no more news on Nick's treatment than we had when she wrote from Norfolk last weekend. We came home a few days ago after one of our best ever holidays. Our holidays in Norfolk were always wonderful but this came at such a crucial time for us and was such a welcome oasis, 12 days of healing. However it is now 5 weeks since Nick's last CHOP chemo and we are still waiting. Waiting to hear the results of the bone marrow biopsy, waiting to know whether there actually are any results or whether Nick will have to have yet another biopsy before a decision can be made about treatment going forward. On the one hand it's been lovely for Nick to have a break from the side effects, a holiday from frequent hospital visits, some respite from needles (which she's not too keen on!) but on the other hand it's frustrating to be waiting, wondering whether the lymphoma is spreading and growing again, taking advantage of the absence of harmful chemicals halting its progress. Cancer takes no holidays.

A lot of people have said  "The waiting is the worst part" and this got me musing about whether 'waiting' is an active or passive thing. I guess it depends what you're waiting for and not knowing what you're waiting for changes the nature of the wait itself. By its very nature waiting isn't a very mindful activity is it? But maybe there's a lesson to be learnt there, maybe waiting wouldn't have all its negative, stressful connotations if we just embraced the act of waiting. These days I think most people instinctively turn to their mobile phone whenever they have to wait; check their messages, watch a youtube clip, tell someone hundreds of miles away that they're waiting...

When your heart beats an electrical impulse starts near the top, passes down through the middle and out to the strong muscle generating the pumping action that sends blood surging out, under great pressure, to travel all the way round your body delivering oxygen to all your cells, keeping you alive. This whole cycle happens 60-80 times every minute on average but in between each cycle there is a waiting phase, known as diastole. It's at this quiet point, at rest, waiting for the next electrical impulse, that the crucial blood vessels that feed the heart itself get their blood supply, keeping the heart itself alive and functioning. So without that period of rest, relaxation, waiting - we'd be in big trouble! 
We're a pretty impatient lot aren't we? That's why waiting can get us down, annoy us, make us cross or anxious. We just want to get on with things, get to the front of the queue, get to the enjoyable thing, the thing we're nervous about, the encounter we want to be over and done with. How often do we use the phrase "I can't wait!"?

I don't like to be late so I tend to get places early which necessitates an acceptance of waiting born out of an avoidance of rushing! (That doesn't mean I don't get impatient though!) Whenever I do a triathlon I always end up having to go to the toilet one more time after I've got my wetsuit on because I would hate to be getting my suit on at the last minute in a panic! Then comes the slow walk to the start, tiptoeing cautiously over rough ground with bare feet, checking the fit of my goggles, making sure I can reach the zip cord so I'll be able to get out of my wetsuit after the swim and then waiting for the briefing, watching the earlier waves of swimmers churning up the water in the distance like a flock of colourful aquatic birds. It's a nervous wait...will the water be cold, will I get kicked in the face, what if my goggles steam up and I go miles off-course, trying not to think beyond the swim because therein lies madness - one thing at a time, don't stress about getting your feet in the pedals or having jelly legs at the start of the run just think about the swim, the meditative flow of breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, locked in your own bubbly world with just an occasional glance ahead to the next buoy...the waiting is worth it in the end, the waiting is part of it, the nerves are essential in preparing mind and body for what lies ahead. 'What if it's too hard?' your brain yells. Of course it'll be bloody hard, otherwise why would you do it? The enjoyment and the thrill is your reward for doing something hard and once you get going it's utterly mindful, the nerves are gone, the wait is over. I wouldn't be without that anticipation for anything. Think of what you'd miss if it wasn't for the waiting.

Today we took down our Egyptian tent in the garden as it has rotted, leaks like the proverbial sieve and is going to be replaced with something more solid. As we wrestled with the large panels of heavy fabric I remembered when we got it, from the Street of The Tent-Makers in Cairo, years ago when visiting my sister Dawn. It wasn't until we collected it in a taxi (having only had to wait two days for it to be made!) that we realised just how massive it was, necessitating some creative packing, some anxious perusing of the airline's website trying to figure out whether we'd have to pay a fortune in excess baggage having weighed it and realised it was way over the limit! In the end we divided the huge pieces of heavy canvas between three bags and went for it. Dawn waved us off at the airport and we stood in the check-in line trying to casually move our bags along as if they didn't weigh an absolute ton! Another anxious wait, watching people ahead of us get charged for being over their weight limit, pulling out their credit cards embarrassed and stressed while we wondered what, if anything we could leave behind if it came to it (having already left most of our clothes with Dawn!). Slowly we edged closer to the front of the queue, managed to avoid the desk where the german family with 7 big cases had been charged, to be met by a smiley woman who weighed each bag in turn, didn't bat an eyelid, and asked finally if we had any more bags (!) before handing over our boarding cards and wishing us a pleasant flight - we did it!!! Well worth the anxious wait..

So we must continue to wait, hoping that we'll hear from the hospital soon, that we'll have a plan one way or another. But don't worry, we won't be too passive - our GP says the squeaky door always gets oiled - so we'll continue to pester, push for answers and try to make things happen. But at the same time we'll try to embrace this waiting as just another part of the journey, a relaxation phase, a quiet time, the diastole that keeps us alive just as much as the active 'systole' phase of the heartbeat and hopefully we'll have some news for you next week....in the meantime you'll just have to wait.