Wednesday and I wake up for my second morning in the York hotel. I check my emails to find ,my missing PSA result is in. Its a real blow, Its 7.5, double what it was 72 days ago. This is what happens when you spend 72 days on drugs that are not working and waiting to be got to on a waiting list. I’m gutted. I drink coffee, eat a Kitkat and watch the squirrels in the trees outside and reflect upon the PSA score, the conversations I’ve had over the last two days and and further reflect. In some ways ignorance would be bliss but I am not. PSA velocity like this is not good, I am in for a rugged time. I had reached the point that I was more than my cancer and that it should not define me, I shoulded do stuff, but the reality of cancer has a way of coming along and making that difficult to believe. I reflect further and only move once checkout time comes around. I leave and drive home, a sandwich and bounty bar on the way.

Once home I unpack, try unsuccessfully to get my GP surgery to respond and mend my laptop (again). So frustrated with it that I drag out my dead sisters old laptop and endeavour to up grade it to Windows 10, that’s how desperate I am. I go to the GP to get an appointment sorted and drop into the village café. I will drift into the evening and the football. It’s all about tomorrow now and what happens at the radiotherapy oncology appointment. It will either be a big let down or a bums rush to action, I don’t hold out much hope that this is going to go anywhere at any pace. It will be night meds and bed to wake to the hospital appointment.