Mamma Mia .. here I go again

Time to update my loyal Chicken fans. Me and the Chicken – or, more correctly, the Chicky and I – have missed you guys. I’ve had no post views for months. Possibly because I haven’t posted for months? Details to follow; I have a present for you, by way of apology.

In 9 days’ time, it will be the second anniversary of the end of my treatment – surgery, chemo, radiotherapy – for breast cancer.

Now I like a good celebration, and I never like to feel it’s completely over. Like, for example, when you get married. You do all the lovely, amazing, big full-on party, rammed with love and happiness – then you piss off on honeymoon and wish you could stay in the bubble of lushness that was. Or a birthday – I keep my cards up for literally flippin’ ages – weeks! The male carer looks at them, keeps them up for a day or two, puts them away. Such is life.

Anyway – back to the gift I promised.

Call me a drama queen but I have cooked up an extra special 2^nd anniversary treat for you!

I’ve only gone and got lung cancer! Hilarious! Yet – generous of me – don’t you think?

I literally cannot believe my luck. And I’m not even being funny although that obvs goes against the grain for moi

So – here’s what’s happened:

My lovely weird Onc (if you’re new to this blog, please do look back – I literally love him) and I were having a review post-treatment for breast cancer. Here’s how it played:

Onc: Well done, we’ll keep an eye on you for the next few years

Me: Hahhahahah! Thanks! For all you’ve done – like the hair loss, broken arse, reduced ability to do anything with your ridiculous cocktail of horrible chemo drugs! And a tit with a bit missing which hurts all the time!

Onc: You’re welcome

Me: Hahahahah! Thanks. Breast cancer wasn’t the one I was expecting to get

Onc: Which one did you want?

Me: I thought I’d get lung, liver or skin based on my very active lifestyle before I ever met you (#blatantlie)

Onc: Not worried about anything except lung. It says on your form you don’t smoke.

Me: I don’t. I haven’t smoked since 8^th May 2013.

Onc: How long did you smoke and how much?

Me: Do you need a coffee/wine/gin

[some time after]

Onc: Holy fucking shit.

Hence, PET/CT scans – the ones where they inject you with radioactive dye, which illuminates active cancer cells – followed. At six monthly intervals. Last one, two weeks ago. Little git had doubled in size, lit up like a Christmas tree. It was still July! So bloody Asda, typical.

I knew my fave Onc was on his holidays ten days ago. Me and my male carer were thinking of going up the hill to a different pub.

Onc’s phone number pops up. I am thinking – we have a good laugh in clinic but…

 

Onc: It’s Tim.

[Me thinking in a random bubble: in two years, he has never said Tim]

Onc: I’ve just seen your PET/CT results. I think you have a lung cancer.

Me: Fine. What’s the plan?

Onc: I want you to go and see my favourite thoracic surgeon. We need to get it out.

Me: #whatevs

 

Tired now – will update you – saw surgeon, op planned, all good, as usual.

 

Pip pip J