I just couldn’t leave the cancer stories alone, could I

I am back at the Centre of Excellence. They gave me the radioactive stuff this time. 

No bloody superpowers!

I would demand my money back, but since the taxpayers paid for it I guess that would be rude. I don’t even want to know how much it costs. I am justifying it based on the amount of tax I’ve already paid in my life and the fact that when I’m better I’ll be back doing something relatively useful. I try not to think about how people who don’t pay tax or contribute to society can happily consume our free healthcare with an “I’n entitled” attitude. 

Oh I see, my superpower is being Jeremy Clarkson!! Cool!!

The stuff (oh all right then, make me spell it again. Yttrium. Ha!) arrived in an hilariously James Bond-esque perspex box with a tiny vial inside it. Two medical physicists had to be in the treatment room. To read out the instructions. Cue the “how many physicists does it take...” jokes. 

In another James Bond reference, there was a pointy gun thing aimed at my abdomen, a la Goldfinger. Thankfully no one said “No Mrs Chambers, we expect you to die”. That would have been in poor taste, I would have thought.

The microspheres have made their way down my hepatic artery and are currently radiating away in my tumours. I am radioactive within a half-metre radius and it decays fairly rapidly, with most of the radiation gone after five days or so. I have to sleep on my own and manage my children at arm's length. So I'm the Queen for a few days. Must get me a natty handbag, 

Afterwards, I was puking and in pain. Daniel Craig would be appalled. But it got better and I had a good day yesterday. Bad bout of pain again this morning though. That stuff must really be burning away brightly inside me. 

I'll be back in six weeks for the next round. More chemo in the meantime. Onwards and upwards.