Over

You’ll remember that, after a great deal of thought, I decided not to have any more herceptin.

There wasn’t really any hurry to let the hospital know, so I didn’t really hurry. Partly because we were away in the immediate aftermath of the decision; partly, I think – although I didn’t make a conscious decision about this – so that I could let the decision sit a while and see if it really was the right one. I wasn’t worrying about it, or thinking about it, so I assumed that it was. (I once nearly bought a handbag, decided against it, and woke up thinking about the handbag every day for a fortnight afterwards. Which made me think that maybe I should have bought the handbag.)

So, last week I thought I really ought to let the hospital know, so I called a few of times, and got the answering machine, and an engaged tone, and the answering machine again. I left a message but my call wasn’t returned.

I called again this morning, and the phone was answered (Hurrah! the first), and the person I needed to speak to was there (Hurrah! the second) and I told her that I had decided against having any more herceptin (Hurrah! the third). She was perfectly lovely about it, and told me what will happen next. Essentially, it seems that I will be discharged to the tender mercies of the surgery follow-up team, who will scrutinise, prod, photograph and scan my breasts pretty constantly, forever. (I hope they have warm hands.)

Then there was a heartfelt, “Take care of yourself”, and then I put the phone down.

And then… nothing. No balloons. No whistles. No confetti falling from the ceiling. No people running out of my kitchen waving champagne bottles and letting off party poppers and shouting ‘Surprise!’. For such a momentous moment – The Official End Of Stephanie’s Cancer Treatment (Except Tamoxifen And That’s Only Pills) – it was very quiet. But that’s just fine by me.

It’s half an hour since I made the call now, and apart from telling you about it, all I’ve done is sit here and enjoy the peace I’ve just acquired. I like the feeling that there’s nothing nasty in the immediate vicinity. The path ahead is unremarkable. The sky is a serene blue. For me, for now -and, I hope, forever – it’s over.