20% of us (living with a brain tumour diagnosis) are expected to survive for more than 5 years. To put it another way: that’s just 1 in 5.
I should acknowledge that there is, of course, a spectrum within this. But, we don’t know where we are positioned and when it could suddenly change.
The majority of the time though, we simply go about living our lives.
We go to work (or playgroups!) and laugh at our friends jokes. We put the dishwasher on, and empty it each morning. We treat ourselves to new impractical handbags (just me?), and yet, on nights like this – before an MRI scan, scanxiety reigns achingly high.
It’s inevitable that statistics play on your mind.
So I paid a bit more attention to my baby this afternoon, as he gleefully tugged at his new socks. And, tried my best to forgive the lack of decent length naps.
There’s a huge amount of comfort in a run of stable scan results, and I feel like I’ve been lucky since completing chemotherapy. It doesn’t, however, stop the night-before worrying.
Later, I’ll rock him to sleep, and stare at his perfect profile, knowing that tomorrow, he’ll be waiting with his dad somewhere outside of the MRI scanning rooms.
I think I can say that we all hope it will be different for us. We hope that we’ll defy the odds. Maybe, after all, it’s going to be fine.