On Wednesday 3 January I had my sixth, and optimistically my last, chemo session. My bloods, taken the day before, were all normal and the session proceeded exactly as previous ones, no issues.

That night, however, I could not sleep at all. The phrase often used by the cancer team is “wired”. I could not relax, and it felt as though I had been plugged into an electrical circuit that was connecting with my muscles every few minutes. I just couldn’t stay still.

I follow the BBL 20 over cricket tournament (Big Bash League) here in Australia so, having gone to bed around 10pm, I got up again around 11 pm to watch the live match from Perth, which is 3 hours behind our time zone here on the east coast. That kept me occupied until around 1 am, when I tried going back for a sleep. No such luck, but I did manage to get some rest.

The following day I was, unsurprisingly, very tired, not only from the lack of sleep but the effects of the chemo. I took some Melatonin and went to lay down on the bed around 3pm. Kim came to wake me at 5pm, otherwise I would have been there and screwed my normal sleep pattern later that night. I felt so much better, and things returned to normal.

For the next few days, I felt very low on energy. I cut the grass, which is just a case of driving the lawn tractor. But when it came to “strimming”, which normally takes about 45 mins, I got halfway through and had to concede defeat. I completed the job the following day. Since then, things have improved a little.

I had a conversation with Sarah, my cancer nurse, on Monday 8 January, on her return from the Xmas break. Ostensibly, I was seeking guidance on what I need do now that chemo has finished and ahead of upcoming oncologist meetings. I relayed the above details, which she was not at all surprised about. It seems, to date, I have been let off lightly by comparison to other patients on a similar regime. She advised me there are two aspects to carefully consider:

Firstly, I’m 72 (nearly 73!), not in my 40s or 50s. I cannot expect to be able to carry on as though I was a much younger chap. I’ve done well, but I need to lower my expectations and take things a little more easily.

Secondly, I have just had 6 sessions of very invasive chemo. It has a cumulative effect. The drug is well embedded in my bone marrow, and this considerably slows down it’s ability to create new blood cells, which reduces my immunity and makes me have less energy. Her other patients on this regime report not being back to “normal” for 6-12 months after treatment finishes.

That told me!

Since then, I have felt better as the days pass, but I have heeded the advice and “chilled” a bit, taking regular breaks when I feel the need.

Up next are meetings with my oncologists. I see Gary Tincknell, my medical oncologist, followed by meeting Steven Chin, my radiology oncologist immediately after, on 13 February. My bloods will be tested on 9 February to provide key data for those meetings. I asked Sarah if I should be having any scans. “Not at this stage”, was her response, which surprised me a little.

Her rationale, however, made a lot of sense. Firstly, my PSA score will, based on most recent scores, enable Gary Tincknell to know just how well the chemo and hormone treatments have worked. The most recent PSA was 0.09, almost undetectable. If the PSA score remains like that then he will probably only want to retest in, say, 3 months, maybe longer. The PSA score is the most important indicator for Gary.

Steven Chin will not require any scans either. The fact I have not had any bone pains, since my treatment started, is the best indication the treatment is working. It will now be up to me to “shout” if anything changes.

This is all subject to the reviews with Gary and Steven, but Sarah said, “so far so good, go and enjoy your life”!

If all of this is confirmed on 13 February, the timing could not be better. Kim and I have a cruise booked, leaving Sydney on Cunard’s Queen Elizabeth, on 20 February, for Fiji, Vanuatu, and New Caledonia. I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate the good news.

Fingers crossed, but I think I may be coming out the other end of this little set back in my life!

Our lovely neighbours at the Bawley Vale Winery, Marg & Chris, gave us a fig tree for Xmas. Kim and I decided to plant it to mark my final chemo session, on 3 January. Evidence below, with my “assistant” Maisie, in the background!

I hope to see it grow very substantially, along with my hair!