I'm a Loser Baby

I didn't make it to the final stages of the Blog Awards. Very sad. 

Looking down the list of finalists, though, I see that my USP isn't S very well in today's culture. Sticking to conventional medicine and eating just, well, food, isn't going to get me very far in the world of cancerlebrity. 
I don't eat meat though! Except lamb and duck, and the occasional nibble of a cheap burger. 
And I tweet! I am hip down with the SoMe groove! Can't manage Instagram but, and SnapChat is a whole other mysterious realm. Facebook makes me jittery (poor grammar and multiple u ok huns give me heartburn).
But my biggest crime of all is being on Their Side. You know, those evil conniving doctors. Liars, cover-uppers, misogynists, pocket-liners, poisoners, couldn't-give-a-shitters. 

Sigh.
It will be ever thus, and I need to get over it. 

So besides the crushing disappointment of not winning any awards, I am once again trying to win the war against insidious and creeping doubt. The astute amongst you (hi mum) will be aware that it's been almost two months since my last scan, so I am in the upswing of scanxiety once again. I know this because all of my muscles hurt. I grind my teeth at night and the muscle spasm cascades merrily down my neck and spine. I have accepted that I have a functional disorder - a physical condition caused by psychological distress - but I always assumed that if you were aware it was psychological then the curse would be broken and the pain would fall away like the thorny forest around the freshly-kissed Aurora. Because if you know your anxiety is the cause, then you can tell your body to calm down, right? Not so. And each new pain triggers further anxiety and off we go again. 
[I've just realised that fibromyalgia would be an excellent topic for an award-winning blog. Not sure I could handle the offers of iv mistletoe infusions or angel therapy though]. 

I'm listening to Tindersticks. I had forgotten how good it feels to listen to miserable music. 

I'm rambling. I've been hell-bent head-down determined focussed goal-orientated for months now. I had very little pain during that time. It works. It steers me away from the thoughts of doom demise death desertion. 
I had calluses, not sores, and I'd like to keep them.
But the old skin cracks reappear, the memory of the spotty skin and the tingling fingers and the bloody bloody drain. 
They are there in the past, but also in all likelihood in the future too.
The acceptance of that is good for me. I have spoken to people whose cancer has recurred and they have been cut in half by the shock and disbelief, and the ignominy of having their hopes and dreams set on fire in an instant. But but but. I never thought it would come back. It's why the bloody treatment bells are a bad idea. "Don't be so negative!!" I hear the cries. "Negativity will kill you!" Emm, no, that would be the cancer, love. Besides, a pessimist is never disappointed. 

So I will forge ahead, filling my days with distracting busy-ness and ignoring the background stomach-lurching uncertainty of When.