Ain't no mountain high enough

In an ill-conceived burst of energy I hiked up a mountain in Wales on the weekend. The big sort where you need to use your hands to pull yourself to the peak, all the while contemplating how fractured your spine would be if you fell. There is nothing like risking life and limb to make you appreciate how grateful you are for not dying from cancer. I know that logic sounds twisted but it works in my head. It was great to do something strenuous and physical, and I was surprised how my strength is slowly returning. It would have been impossible to do that sort of thing a few treatments in, so I guess my body is getting to used to the chemo. In a strange coincidence it turns out my oncologist has booked a trip to hike exactly the same mountain with his tennis buddies. He says he'll use my example to motivate/tease any of his friends who are lagging behind on the climb. 

I had chemo number 10 yesterday, and it went pretty smoothly. My neuropathy (nerve damage in the fingertips) is becoming more of an issue and we're considering dropping the dose a little. I've been told it's getting to the point where it may become permanent, and I could lose some fine motor skills. A life being unable to incessantly text and play angry birds is not worth considering. Also, I'd struggle with doing up the buttons on my shirt and so would have to go around dressed like Tom Selleck most of the time.