Born Again

It's hard to know where to start after such a long break from blogging - but as the begging emails are starting to stack up I thought I'd better check in.

Before the ski holiday I was nervous as hell. For some reason I doubted my ability to leave the country - I had a vague feeling that someone would point a finger at me as I went through the security gate and shout 'Go Back, you have cancer...!' completely illogical but until I stepped foot on foreign soil I didn't realise how deeply entrenched the fear was.

The sense of liberation I felt as we drove out of the airport in our squashy car rental took my breath away.

I decided that despite the dodgy legs and complete lack of stamina, I was going to force myself to ski every day, even if only for half an hour. Day one was scary as hell. I clipped the skis on and had to slip down a tiny but steep alley to get to the lift. My legs started to shake and I was sure I was going to fall. I kept worrying about the insurance policy we had and whether it would cover me for repatriation after chemo if I broke my leg. I snowploughed down the slope like a five year old and then had to stop for five minutes to stop my heart from beating so fast.

Poor Francois put paid to all fantasies he may have had about careering over the black runs and acted as my personal 'moniteur' - a complete star - and coaxed me down one blue piste, after which I had to call it a day. The next day was brilliantly sunny (the only one as it turned out) so I knew I had to make it to some of the higher slopes which involved a couple of red runs. Still some serious wobbling and a pathetic topple in the powder as I barely had the strength to lift my skis - but I managed about an hour and so the week continued...through blizzards, fog and pouring rain...until on Friday I managed to ski for a couple of hours straight without a tremor - and realised I was smiling.

The kids had a fantastic time - the children's village was superb and we barely saw them - dropping them off for a three course lunch at 11:45 and only picking them up at 5:30 after a 3 hour lesson and some apres ski activities. My apres ski sadly consisted of eating a plate of pasta in the appartment and collapsing in bed by about 9pm. Francois said I'd be sitting at the table looking quite ok one minute and then suddenly I looked as if I was going to fall over at which point I literally just collapsed into bed, usually before the children. I think I'd have done better if I wasn't also fighting a horrendous head cold (typcial), but I was so chuffed with my skiing and spending some rare quality time together as a family that it didn't matter.

We spent the weekend with friends in Geneva and determined not to lose the muscle strength I'd gained, I walked each day for 2 hours. Have come back completely determined to get in great shape. Now that the chemo, surgery and rads are over it feels as if I've been given a chance to live over again, but this time I'm going to do it right. The doc puts my five year survival rates at between 70% and 80% which would have completely freaked me out only a few months ago, but now they seem like rather good odds, and no reason not to live every day to the full. On Saturday night in Geneva, in a clapped out old bed, I slept for 10 straight hours, for the first time since last July.

Now looking forward to the next holiday, and the one after that. Whatever the MRI on right boob shows up next week, I know that I can handle it.