21st July ‘But now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all, beside this manna, before our eyes’ Numbers 11.6

Over the past few days I have had a PET CT scan, update from the consultant, and my fourth bout of chemo treatment.

Normally this level of activity would have prompted a deluge of thoughts and reflections, but there is now something of the wandering-in-the-desert feeling for me.

Famously, the Israelites took forty years to get from Egypt to the Promised Land (Canaan). Out of interest I decided to reserch how long this journey should have taken. This led to half an hour of the most frustrating internet searching ever, and led me to conclude that the internet is full of rubbish. Immediate answers to the following questions yielded to following results:

How far is Egypt from Canaan? Answer: 5270 miles

How long should it have taken the Israelites to travel from Egypt to Canaan? Answer: 11 days.

This being the internet, these answers were repeated ad infinitum. Therefore, from this, we can conclude that Egypt to Canaan is twice the size of the actual width of the Mediterranean Sea, and the men, women, children and camel train should have managed an impressive 479 miles a day! You may join me in a scream of frustration. Whatever the real answer, clearly 40 years was excessive, unless, in pre-SAT NAV days, I was the navigator!

Clearly, the Israelites were there to be taught a lesson, and not there to complete their DofE. The lesson, or lessons, have certainly resonated with me over the past few days as an equilibrium seems to have taken hold, and I too am growing weary of manna.

The PET scan was notable for the rather intimidating pre-scan procedures and warnings. For example, I was told to avoid strenuous exercise, not usually an issue in my case, including running, the gym, horse riding, and, I kid you not, “knitting”! This left me with the question of: What can I do? 

The radiographer later told me knitting was forbidden due to its repetitive nature, which produces excessive glucose which can affect the results. So there you go. You learn something knew everyday. 

I was also warned I would be radioactive for ten hours. Bizarrely this news made me rather excited. Would I glow like the Ready Brek boy? Would I be able to create spider’s webs? Alas, no. Then there was the rather fearsome sight of a yellow lead-lined syringe brought in on its own lead-lined trolley.

Despite this, it was all rather relaxing, apart from fighting the desire to nod off.

Two days later the consultant rang me with the results. The lymphoma had shrunk by the desired 50% plus. It was now 5cm. All my other stats, histology, bloods etc were very good. The only real issue is that the lymphoma was a “very bulky mass”. 

I then asked a question that had, bizarrely, never been asked before: “How big was it, and what constitutes a ‘bulky' mass?” The answer took me aback, and rather explains my protracted stay in hospital. 

“Yours was 13cm, and a ‘bulky' mass is anything over 7cm”, came the reply. Cripes, no wonder they were worried, but perhaps sharing this context may have helped ease my frustration in those days of solitary confinement.

Therefore, the conclusion was: "more of the same as it seems to be working". Good-oh and good-bye.

Back into the desert I go eating my quail and manna. It’s the lull, the desire for more, the monotony of the period which is now so odd. This now feels ‘normal’, but it is not the normality I want or choose. 

But then, such is the nature and the discipline of the desert.

Metaphorically, and in reality, it is my family who are my Moses and Aaron to whom I lament as they enjoy sushi and pate, and I, once again, eat fishfingers and very well-cooked venison. I realise that sounds like a sympathy-free lament. Brioche and quail sounds good to me… but not for forty years.

In this gentle purgatory all I do know for sure is that I shall not be asking Google, “How long is the journey from diagnosis to (hoped-for!) remission?”.