Since my chemo had stopped, I was getting stronger, but there was still a fear and uncertainty about every ache and pain, snuffle and cough. My wife still worried about this for many years. I would often visit the hospital for or between appointments, worried about the latest, normal, minor infection. You start to become your own worst expert. I remember on one occasion going for my check-up, convinced that I had relapsed. The routine was to arrive in the morning, get your bloods taken, have your x-rays done and return after lunch to see the doctor in the clinic. I was given my x-rays to bring to the clinic. I looked at the x-rays and could see the shadow I had feared. I was too distraught for lunch and strolled nearby to occupy my mind. I came upon a small church, and sat at the grotto. I cried and said a prayer, not my forte. This was it. It couldn't be beaten again. I'd had my chance. I made my way back to the clinic where I was reassured that my bloods and x-rays were fine. I had just a flu. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I remember crying over imagined fears on one other occasion. It was shortly before Christmas and I sat in the bedroom on the rocking chair with my son on my knee. He wasn't aware I was crying because I wouldn't see Christmas or see him growing up. Wrong again.