Pardon??

Hello my rocks 💕 You rock!! 

So much fun, so much to tell – but, unfortunately so little time left. I’m sad, but resigned to it; as you know, I try to see the positive – and if there’s nothing I can do about it, let the good times roll, is what I say! 

Pahahahahahaha! Time left until my fifty flipping fifth 🤢which is only bloody tomorrow! Whaaaat??  The only thing I can roll is the flubbery bits where I have been self-injecting bone marrow boosters the last few weeks to try to stimulate growth of my neuts (not to be confused with those little slimy things in a pond) and my white blood cells. I can report success, in that my stomach looks like a second hand dart board, available for free on eBay but with no takers. Hurrumphh.

Turns out that Mr Ciss (I won’t do the obvious and more natural Miss, because a girl would never do this to a co-girl) is blasting me so much, it’s destroying said blood stuff. This is normal in chemo; it’s meant to trample everything in its path. That’s the point. 

But, as a lovely colleague said, it sure would be good if a map and compass could possibly divert it from the bits it would be helpful to have in order to stay alive. 

The issue is, my body has lost the ability to generate new ones. It should, within a normal chemo cycle – but mine – well, they’ve done one. They can’t be arsed, basically. So they’ve had their PCRs, and flowed, quite laterally, out of the country. 

How does this affect things for you, I don’t hear you asking, above your snores? 

Drugs are always the answer (not for you, kids, obvs!)  I was too unwell blood-wise and, 🤢🤢-wise) to have my chemo on Tuesday this week. Mr 24 to the rescue: change the regime from twice to once every three weeks; ramp up the cocktail; more bone marrow injections; see how it goes. Fine!! I’m onnit! 

Crikey, I’ve bored myself! Let’s face it, my attention span is going to be EVEN LESS as of tomorrow- time to ramp things up my friends 💃💃

Oh I do love a good 8hr infusion – so much fun to be had, so many biscuits to re-home, so much I can contribute to the world drought problem. 

When I got there, I was rather pleased to see that the cardboard top hat had been replaced – by a full on, 2 litre cardboard bed pan – placed over the loo seat. So much easier! So much less … damp! For my inner thighs, my jeans, the bathroom walls- and the good hygiene of a hospital floor. Result. 

Eagerly, I got astride for the first evacuation of the day. Nice and gentle, tinkle tinkle; well done moi. 380mls apparently; I’ve given myself a sticker. Nurse J is looking after me today and she’s also quite approving. I’m going to leave the thought of Nurse J with you. Hold on. It might not be this time – but, if Fawlty Towers Did Chemo … I think we’d have a well-cast lead. 

Next evacuation: hello! 

Nurse J, like my carer, is of the Emerald Isle. 

‘Holy Mary mother of God! Fwatt the bejesus have you put in there??’

‘935mls I think you’ll find!’

I’m on a bloody roll. Up and up it goes, through the day, until the whole hospital is submerged in my special brew. I’ve never felt so proud since I got all the badges in Brownies, aged (probably, knowing me and my desire to be competitive with myself) two.  🙄

Chemotherapy, scheemotherapy – what’s all the bloody fuss about?? 

Get home, settle in for the rest of it. There’s a big misunderstanding out there I think (well I know), that you have a rough time actually having your chemo on the day. Sure – you feel totally drained (thank you J); you want to wedge in on the sofa with some cauliflower cheese, speaking like you’re pissed and telling everyone you love them – then be fast asleep snoring within five minutes. 

I’m getting to know how my new little friend is operating. With breast cancer chemo four years ago, turned out he liked to get the shit guns out on the third and fifth day following treatment  

This one likes to be a bit shit to you on the day; slide back into his lair; then absolutely clobber you from the fifth to the eighth day. 

What I’m also learning is, that Mr Ciss may well have been born, alive and active in the actual 80s! 

On day 5, post infusion, I’m wandering up the garden, happy as a lark – whistling like one of them, and feeling a bit smug that this chemo lark is actually not too bad. Oh: you foolish girl. 

A side effect is tinnitus. We joke with our besties that what he has is not actually tinnitus but more, his gorgeous other half saying ‘paint this, sand that, build the other, farrow & ball, farrow & ball! Now!’

No such decorative musings on my particular wander. I’m half way up and a big, level toned ‘eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…..mweeeeeeooooooooo…iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii’ arrives in the lugs. Almost at the same time, I get flashing white disco lights at the side of each eye. Hmm. Am I  at Latitude, with my attitude? Have I gone back to school days – Is it OMD, Visage, Japan – all of which I went to wearing my Ant boots, tartan trousers, with my crimped hair?? (I was a very confused, geeky, tiny bit academic teenager. I started smoking at 15 because I fancied a cool, punk-looking bloke and I wanted to fit in and make him fancy me. He didn’t. Look what I courted in return 🤦‍♀️😂) 

No idea. I woke up lounging in the lavender.

The audio issue has become hearlairious.  

I was at the hospital the other day. Nurse R – not to be confused with Nurse O’J – is doing my pre-chemo checks.

‘How are you feeling?’

(Must paint the ceiling?? I thought you’d just had the ward done???’)

‘What about your bowels?’

(We’ve got new towels? Well I’ve just cissed all over them – #awkward)

‘Any sickness, diarrhoea?’

(What is the thickness of your gonorrhea? Nasty lady 😡gonearightoffyou!)

It does have advantages, however. The other day, having removed my head from la bowl de la toilette, for a full five minutes, I venture downstairs and declare myself to be feeling marvellous. Relived, the carer suggests: 

‘I’d love a cup of tea,’

‘It’s  quarter to three’. 

In your face, cancer. You’re getting boring now. Do one – with no PCR.

Sent from my iPad