I’m done!

A day before my 36th Birthday _{^{(let’s stop counting now!)}} 

I received my last dose of Chemotherapy and the results of the subsequent MRI in the last month. After what was over a year of decisions and treatment, I made it through. My sister Sinead came over for my last dose.    

   

My results have been reported as very positive. The areas that they were concerned about are showing less activity now, and what remains of the tumour has actually shrunk a little.

So I am taking that as a major win! 

Thank you for all your thoughts, prayers and good vibes through this process. I have appreciated all the words of support. 

I’ve got to admit, my last month of chemo was rough! The side effects eventually caught up with me. It left me with low platelets, low white blood cells and immunocompromised for a little bit.

  

My oncology team was very impressed that I tolerated the doses of PCV chemotherapy so well. Every month they would phone, and my consultant was ready to hear the worst, but only minor expected things showed up. 

They had mentioned repeatedly that a lot of people don’t tolerate it for the full 6 months; I think they were managing my expectations so I wasn’t disappointed if that were the case with me. 

I have friends that didn’t make it through PCV, so I knew the score; luckily by pure random chance, I reacted favourably, as much as you can to a cytotoxic formulation. 

I got the impression they were honestly amazed, and in the final review they told me as much. 

I like to think that movement and exercise helped; cold baths and saunas were my steadying protocols, all designed to keep the ship afloat and moving forward. 

I didn’t always stick to a strict Keto diet though. Sometimes you gotta listen to your own body. I allowed myself that pizza, and a few other carb-alious treats, especially over Christmas and the final cycles. 

I was going to the gym 2-3 days per week and cycling to and from work, which seemed like enough to help at the time.   

The side effects ramped up in the final month to intense periods of nausea nearly to the point of passing out, general fatigue, and weird bruise-like sore spots. There were no marks, but the pain that I experienced was exactly like a bruise. 

It’s strange to reflect on chemo and radio, you can be tricked into believing you have plenty left in the tank, you almost forget that you’re more vulnerable, even that you’re being treated for cancer and suddenly you get this reminder, when you complete a particularly demanding day at work or find yourself running out of steam half way though a day and may need to rest. I did struggle to drag myself out of bed in the final month, but then the weather started to improve and it got easier again. Turns out sunlight was all I needed. 

The elephant in the room was that there was a mental aspect to it also.

I’d recently gone through a breakup with Jessie, and I was still feeling the aftershocks of it. I think we both knew it was always going to be tough. She’s from America, and with me relying on the NHS at the moment, plus everything that comes with insurance and trying to find work abroad, it just added layers of complexity.

Deep down, I think we both recognised there was a good chance it would end in some form of heartache. That’s just part of it, isn’t it? No one really gets through life untouched in that sense. The old line about it being better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all does ring true.

Fair play to her for stepping into it anyway, fully aware it might not work out. That takes courage. A lot of people wouldn’t have taken that risk. We gave it a proper go, but in the end it was just too much to sustain. She wasn’t happy. You can’t pour from an empty cup. 

The fact we’ve stayed amicable and respectful says a lot about her. She’s got a high level of emotional intelligence, and that showed throughout. She could feel herself losing her spark the longer she stayed in Bristol, so far from her family. And at the same time, she understood how difficult it was for me having her so far away.

Eventually, we both saw it for what it was. The writing was on the wall.

Still, I take a lot from it. Journey before destination, every time. I’ve learned a great deal about myself because of her.

On a more positive note, I can feel my old, pre-treatment self starting to come back. I’m getting back into my old routines and habits that once felt natural, without the same resistance I had during treatment.

Slowly but surely, I’m recovering physically, and also starting to rediscover who I am again, especially in the aftermath of everything with Jessie. 

It feels like the version of me that went quiet for a while isn’t hibernating anymore. For a long time, I was just in survival mode, going through the motions. Doing what I had to do to stay balanced and keep moving forward. I was well supported, but it wasn’t peak Connor. 

I’m trying to be more aware of my inner critic. It shows up with things like:

“You’ve missed that workout again.”

“Stay in bed, you deserve it.”

“Just cancel your plans.”

It’s hard to tell whether that voice is kindness or avoidance; it may be both. 

I’m trying to go easier on myself, but I can see a pattern of delaying action and avoiding discomfort creeping in, which in my view is never a good thing. Sometimes rest helps, sometimes it makes things worse. It’s not always obvious which is which.

Recently, I gave a short talk on resilience for my employers, as it was one of our focuses on that occasion. Normally, public speaking is Okay for me, but since the tumour that has changed, I sometimes struggle to get the words out in a sensible order, especially when nervous. 

This felt different. Telling my own story out loud caught me off guard. It felt heavier than I expected, more raw, and I struggled more than I thought I would, even with notes.

Sometimes this raw emotion itself comes out through physical training, music, meditation or by talking to people (Having a good cry can do it too.) Other times it builds up, and if you’re not careful, it comes out in ways that aren’t that helpful.

That’s probably nudged me towards something I’ve needed for a while. As a millennial, I know we joke about being a bit therapy-heavy, but I’ve been putting it off for ages, always saying I’ll book it tomorrow. When I’ve gone to book I’ve actually had three therapists come back saying they’re full, so by the time you’re reading this, I’ll likely have finally got myself on board the therapy train. 

In other news, Vorasidenib has now been approved on the NHS. It’s great news for those with grade II astrocytomas who haven’t had chemo or radiotherapy yet. I was just a bit too early and needed conventional treatment. Typical timing for me.  It’s been shown to double progression-free survival, so hopefully it may have a role post-treatment in the future.

I’ve kept busy. I’ve completed my Level 3 CIMPSA personal training qualification. It was tougher than expected, but that made it more meaningful, especially given the timing. I have been active in other ways too; I will post some pictures below to show you what I’ve been getting up to.

Right now, I’m recalibrating my “why” and figuring out what’s next. I’m working two to three days a week at Lynne Fernandes Optometrists, slowly building back up. I enjoy it, but the communication side can be draining, so I’m managing my energy carefully.

There are still a lot of questions. I’ve been told recovery can take at least six months, and that feels accurate. There are challenges, but I’m moving forward.

I’m trying to look ahead with a sense of excitement and optimism. It feels like the start of a new chapter, one where I can leave more of the treatment behind and step into something that feels like my own again. Wish me luck.