Emmm

I think maybe I’ve run out of things to say. 

Or, at least, I cannot corral my thoughts into any kind of order. 

I am waiting for the next step - 

More chemo? 

Radiation? 

Surgery? 

Pretend like it never happened and go back to real life?

It is beyond odd to have so little control over what happens next. 

The novelty has well and truly worn off now.

Homer as a Role Model - That Can’t Be Good

I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with me.

I’m not sick enough to be this sick. 

I don’t look unwell. I don’t feel unwell, except when the chemo side effects kick in.

I’m not afraid of dying. I’m sad that I might, and I’m sad for those who would be left behind, but the thought of dying doesn’t keep me awake at night. In fact, last night’s dreams were mostly about a large cooked breakfast with all sorts of pig products glistening in a sizzling pan. Yum.

Either I am still in total denial, or I have progressed as quickly as Homer through Kubler Ross’s stages of grief. 

There really is something wrong with me. 

Hosp-it-hols*

I got a week off from chemo, and it feels like getting sent home from school because the boiler’s broken. 

I only have one or two chemos to go (this round) but it is becoming a real struggle. Most of last week I had pain in my mouth like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Like I was swallowing hot lava every five minutes. Like I was using caustic soda as mouthwash. Mucositis they call it. Very bloody sore.

And yet, suddenly, it improved. I went from gingerly sipping squash soup to downing a tasty early bird menu followed by a lovely pint in the Mutton Lane.

It’s like when you have a cold, or manflu, and you think “will I ever feel well again?”. And then, next thing, you do. And it is so hard to remember how bad you felt. Until the next time you get sick, and then you think you feel so bad you’d rather be dead. 

Things change all the time.  They (nearly) always get better.

*Credit: AWF