Who’s going to get the chicken?

Every morning lately, I wake up at 2am. Not just a wake up, grunt, snore, turn over, pass wind (like summer meadows, my husband lies) – but a full on, ‘right, what are we doing today?’ situation. It’s fine for me (I cleaned the microwave at 2.38am = bonus) but then I get to round about now, and think it’s bedtime.

Usually, I potter around all morning yawning my head off, then hit the sofa at 2pm and watch Escape to the Country back to back until 5. (I’m finding that they usually go for the mystery house. And that if they have the audacity not to like the new build bungalow/chocolate box cottage they’d stipulated they’d never consider, the presenter gets a bit arsey with them). I need to get out more.

I’m going out today alright. Out for a 9 mile drive to an oncology ward, to start my first cycle of chemo. Irritatingly, the time slot clashes horribly with my Escape to the Country viewing schedule which, frankly, is insult to injury.

I’m not in the least bit bothered about this folks, as my nearest and dearest will testify.  It’s my means to the oncologist’s end of reducing the risk of the breast cancer I had diagnosed in January recurring. Bring it on is what I say! I’ve read so much about it; people’s experiences, the side effects, the misery of it all – but what I’ve learned over the weeks since January is that every cancer case is different and every individual is, well, just that. I intend to smash it, but if I can’t, I’ll just push it around a bit! You don’t know what you don’t know – and you won’t know til you try it. So let’s crack on.

Brave cancer battler I am not. Cancer is not a ‘battle’ because it does not involve a fair distribution of might or power. Basically it runs the show, and the sooner you realise that, the better. I’m not saying that a positive mental attitude doesn’t help – it’s very handy, and is as near clinically proven as you like to improve the outlook. After the mild shock of diagnosis (in that, as a former chain smoker, former baby oil clad sunbather and having never been a stranger to a good bottle of red, breast cancer was almost devastating to my reputation) I just put my head down, my boobs into the hands of those who know what best to do with them and have said yes to everything.

why am I blogging it? Selfish to the core (see nearest and dearest, above). It’s helpful to get it out in the open. I’m thinking these next few months will be challenging enough without the added stress of pretending I don’t have it. It’ll help if I bump into neighbours in the co-op when I’ve got straggly hair. It’ll stop me having to lie when people ask, ‘how are you?’. The truth is, I’m extremely well – it was a weed in the garden, someone was kind enough to get it out and now we’re just going back over the area with Round Up to make sure it’s gone. It’s blissfully simple, which suits me down to the ground.

In fact, the first worry I had when I was told that chemo was needed, ten days ago, was the title of this blog. I don’t care about this little blip in my life, but trust me, if I can’t make a roast on a Sunday, the metamorphosis from nice to grumpy is pretty fast and very ugly. Got that sorted – one enormous chicken bought, in the fridge and ready for the weekend.

Sorry for the long opener – inevitably these will be much briefer as time goes on.

I’ll ramble again soon. Just off for a water-only hairwash – I’m almost salivating at the money I’ll save over the coming months!

See you soon. Team Carnaghan has this!