This last week has been highly emotional – punctuated with suspense and fear that the results of a scan probing the cause of extreme new back pain would reveal something very sinister.

The scan took place as planned on Tuesday and in my mind, I expected one of two outcomes – some sort of severe muscle damage or cancer activity that could mark the start of the terminal process.

I have told myself throughout these many months of living with cancer that I already know the final outcome and that I must accept it. Yet, when it came down to walking into that CT scanner room, I was desperately trying to push away any thoughts this was my final chapter.

I wanted so desperately to be told that muscles were damaged and that they would heal in time.

By now I should know better than to try to second-guess cancer. Since my diagnosis back in 2019, this long and winding road has taken the most unexpected of twists and turns, and these last few days have continued to shock and surprise myself and those around me.

It’s as if there is a scriptwriter determined not to deliver anything predictable.

A storyteller able to deliver dramatic new twists and leave us all hanging, yet again, for more tests for new and intriguing causes and outcomes. The hours and days passed slowly until Thursday evening when news came through about the scan.

I had quietly been thinking about my funeral – and if I wanted to change anything about ideas already expressed to Laura.

But the scan did not show fluid build-up as a result of cancer activity – nor did it confirm any serious muscle damage. Two of my thoracic vertebrae are fractured. The fractures weren’t there when last scanned so the theory is that either my steroid treatments have weakened the bones and muscles and caused the fractures – or that cancer is active in my spine.

This catches our breath – we have a long, quiet moment. We digest the next steps: an MRI scan somewhere down the not-too-distant road. These will be days that pass very slowly. The dreaded waiting begins again.

After several planned short-break escape cancellations due to travel restrictions we had thought everything was clear for a jaunt to a beach cottage in Fife next month – after all, the country is opening up again.

And just like every other aspect of this cancer journey there is little that can be anticipated and predicted – apart from that there will always be surprises. If we are able, and if I am fit, we will continue with our planned escape. Painkillers and bed rest beside a beach remain the plan.

Ally McLaws is a freelance specialist in writing, business marketing and reputation management. See the full range of services on offer and view all previous back issues of this column at

www.mclawsconsultancy.com