I've caught you up on my Christmas travels and my wild trip to Toronto. Let me bring you up to date on the latest craziness to impact my life.

The flight back to Vancouver was uneventful. My seatmate had been one of the last people to board the plane. After exchanging some perfunctory greetings and establishing territory as passengers in economy do, I put my head down a few times and caught a few winks of sleep. It has always been a blessing to be able to sleep pretty much on demand.

Because of my involvement with one of their programs, Canadian Cancer Society invited me to a peer support workshop that required me to fly to Toronto to participate. It focused on improving some of their services. Toronto in January - not on my bucket list but there you go.

A good adventure story begins at the beginning and this one should be no different. When Evan called saying, "Dad I don't know what to get you for Christmas." I was kind of shocked. We don't really talk about that in our family. We don't think a lot about what we want. We just do it. Last year he gave me a copy of Ashley's "Book of Knots" Thoughtful. He is pretty good at this gift giving thing.

A few strains of "Silent Night" drifted across the sparsely filled sanctuary. And I cried. "Silent Night" was the first Christmas carol that I learned by heart. As a child, I sat in the car waiting for my father, a veterinarian, to finish his work with a farmer. To amuse myself I would sing it to myself. I don't know if I was feeling sorry for myself or just feeling the blessing of being with others that had suffered loss and were struggling to celebrate this Christmas season. As hard as it was, I was glad I had come to the "Blue Christmas" service.

The examination room isn't big enough for cartwheels. But if it had been I would have turned one. Yes it was better than good news. It was great news. Let me back up a bit.

It has been a strange week, though one that is kind of the norm these days. I had my CT scan on Tuesday. And now I wait for the results on Monday. When people ask "How are you doing?" the answer has been " I'm in limbo." I'm changing it down a little bit from scanxiety. In the back of my mind I know that one of these times I'm going to get the news that there is progression and I will be into the next stage of treatment. And I"m trying largely successfully to keep those thoughts in the back of my mind and not let them preoccupy me.

Grab your Kleenex boxes. I just listened to Taylor Swift singing about her mom's returning cancer. Worth looking up the lyrics to this one. But here have a listen: https://youtu.be/tMoW5G5LU08

I've had a couple of conversations over the last few weeks about caregivers to cancer survivors. The struggles that they have, the emotional rollercoaster, and how differently people react to cancer. She captures it well. When the singer says that this is too personal to sing in public, you know the song comes from the heart.

Sometimes in this dark world we get good news.

Earlier yesterday morning I sent this note to my cousin:

I'm now 8 weeks into afatinib treatment. I have found it hard to distinguish between the mental effects of re-staging and the side effects of the new drug.

The re-staging came as a shock. I had thought that I was doing well. I certainly felt good. As I told many of you "If I didn't know I was sick, I wouldn't know I was sick." That's not true any more. Now I know I'm sick. Every little twinge and ache seems to be magnified. There have been minor depression issues at times.

This isn't the first time I have had to write a hard email but this one seems to have avoidance written all over it. Always seems to be something else to do, write or think about.