Oh Woe is Me...
This week I'm having a bit of a moan.
Thought it would be kinder to warn you before you started reading (you'll never get the next five minutes back!)
In the last two weeks I've been:
Rushed in to hospital (Ealing hospital at that!) in the middle of the night - with a temperature. And not allowed to leave for FOUR DAYS. Until my temperature was back down to 'normal' for 24hrs:
Stuffed up to the eyeballs with every kind of 'anti' you can think of - antibiotics, antivirals, anti fungals, antisocials (not really the last one but that's a bit how I now feel):
Poked with so many needles I've lost count (they couldn't use my portacath at Ealing (see previous blog for description and purpose of this apparently useless new addition to my poor old bod)):
And hot flushing like a super heated lavatory.
And I am now TOTALLY FED UP and quite literally SICK & TIRED of the whole bloody thing!
I went in to see Dr Lowdell, my delightful and charming oncologist today to sign the consent forms for the next stage of this awful, arduous journey. Radiotherapy.
I was hoping they'd let me volunteer for the trial they're running at Charing Cross at the moment - three weeks at a high dose instead of five at a slightly lower... And it turns out not only am I not allowed to do that but I've got to have SIX weeks. Five weeks on my breast and neck (due to the lumpy lymph nodes) and a further week on just my boob. Five days a week for six weeks. Starting in early to mid-January. Humph.
So I (or to be precise, my treatment) will be ruining yet another holiday for my poor, beautiful boys and my long suffering husband (we were supposed to be going away in the spring half term but I'll still be having treatment then so...)
But this week (so far) I'm feeling almost normal. I managed to go back in to work today at the BOA. I had a rehearsal after work, for my five minute standup debut with Sophie (gorgeous friend and comedy guru). And barring major incident and accident I will be performing that five minute routine on Wednesday evening, sometime between 7 and 10:30 at the Cavendish Arms in Stockwell. It may or may not make other people laugh. But writing and rehearsing it has made me laugh and helped me see the (sometimes extremely) funny side of this stupid, senseless situation in which I currently exist.
So I don't really mind if nobody else laughs - that's up to them I guess.
Is cancer funny? Probably not. But laughing at it and the treatment to get rid of it really helps to render the whole thing powerless. Powerless to make me a victim. Too weak to rule my world. Not 'the big C' but the annoying, insidious 'little c' - a disease with the ability to kill but not the strength to conquer. Not this woman, not my spirit and certainly not my sense of humour!