Progress charts and rainbows

As a social scientist, I like to think I know a thing or two about human behaviour and motivation. One thing I definitely know is that, when people do an online survey, if there's a progress bar that tells them how much they've done and how far they've got to go, completion rates soar: without the progress bar, people get frustrated and give up; if people can visualise their progress, it orientates them and spurs them on towards the finishing line. With this social science insight in mind, at the beginning of my treatment, I made my own 'progress bar': a simple calendar for the 6 weeks of treatment, drawn on a piece of A4 and selotaped to the inside of a kitchen cupboard. When I watched Andy Murray beating Roger Federer in the gold medal match at the Olympics earlier this year, I remember the commentator saying, "Come on Andy, just one point at a time, it's like a ladder, just one point at a time." My kitchen cupboard chart was a made in that spirit, and I have religiously crossed off each day for the last 6 weeks, one at a time.

And now, here we are, with only four radiotherapy sessions left to go! Yes, today will be number 27 out of 30, and tomorrow, there'll be only three left. Both radiotherapy and tablets (we don't call it "chemo" - it's just like taking a paracetemol, you see) will finish on the 30th, then I'll have the whole of November off to let my body recover, before I start the tablets again for one week in every month, from December until May. I can't wait to have a month off, although I will miss my glamourous radiographer friends, who have been exceptionally kind and lovely throughout the whole thing. The main thing I'm looking forward to is that there are now only four sessions to go until my hair can start growing back. I can still cover the bald patches with other hair, but it'll be nice not to have to worry all the time that my comb over has slipped and I actually look like Golem from the Lord of the Rings.

So the end is in sight, we're steaming towards the finishing line, there's light at the end of the tunnel, and by the end of next Tuesday, I will have walked 132 miles to and from radiotherapy sessions. As I walked through Cringle park yesterday, with my wellies on and my brolley up, the sun suddenly blazed through a gap in the clouds, although it was still pouring with rain. I peeked out from under my brolley, and sure enough, there it was: a perfect arc of brilliant rainbow, all seven colours beautifully differentiated, seemingly beginning and ending inside the park. It made me feel quite emotional actually, how beautiful it was.