Spring is on here in Vancouver—things are growing, temperatures are supposed to reach 17 today and 22 tomorrow.
How many more springs will I see, I wonder? I guess it's an inevitable train of thought. All my doctors are still talking about my upcoming treatments being curative—that the chemotherapy, radiation, new clinical trial drugs, and surgery will shrink and then remove all the cancerous cells in my body.
I certainly hope that's true. My medical team and I are doing everything we can to destroy it all, to purge it, to annihilate it. But there is a definitively non-trivial chance that won't happen, as well: that some cells destined to grow uncontrollably might remain inside me, and grow more, and require more treatment. And there is a chance that subsequent treatment won't work. Right now, there is a significant risk that I could be dead within five years, something I would never have considered a few months ago.
I don't expect that, not now, but I can't ignore it, however hard it is to write down. So when I experience something, like the first flowers of spring, I try to watch it a little longer, and maybe take some pictures.