86. Even more words...

Tuesday I received an email from Alice Little, who runs Didcot Writers, saying how much she enjoyed my piece for the competition and it was especially poignant knowing it was true or based on truth because it’s a difficult subject. I was really touched. Another ‘stranger’ caring enough to pass on their good wishes. But writing this down now reminds me - why is it a difficult subject???? I can’t quite work it out. There are dozens of conditions and diseases that are fatal, potentially fatal, life-restricting, scary... Why this one? I remember vaguely some comedian who would act out comic scenes (oh lord, I fear it might have been Les Dawson - I have to confess publicly that I watched Les Dawson at some stage on telly. How mortifying!!) as a woman chatting over the fence and he’d drop his voice with the word ‘cancer.’ Yes, it was amusing, taking the piss out of a certain type of person I’m not sure he’d get away with in the 21st century, but it shows little has changed in 40 years. Yet we have far more effective treatments and more extensive research and still we’re scared stiff at the mere word. I still believe it’s only a disease. Maybe it’s the uncertainty around it that makes it so scary?

Yes, it was Les Dawson with Roy Barraclough:

Uncertainty is definitely a feature. Dennis and I were talking about how we’re finding things this week. He obviously (deep down illogically) expected some magic transformation, me bouncing with more energy, horrid symptoms gone. But here I am, same as ever. I had to explain that, while last Tuesday was my final chemo, it was followed by the usual week of my poor battered body having to cope with the vile Paclitaxel and that my actual break to freedom only started two days ago so we can’t expect  much. In fact, it will take months for some effects to begin to go away (and some don’t, I’ve gently been warned). Huh!

Back to words. I got an email of apology from the Practice Manager who’s been on leave, explaining that the failure to contact me after the hospital requested it just before Easter was an oversight by the GP (I won’t name him and shame him) and it could only be attributed to human error, given how busy he was. Human error I accept so I’m satisfied with that - line now drawn under it. Way better than the cold and clinical refusal to acknowledge anything personal by Lloyds Pharmacy. I was a bit pissed off when she added that she noted from my records that I did get my prescription. Yes I did - SIX pretty painful days later!!

I am so close to turning this into the pity-party I promised myself I would avoid so I will close with a positive/negative: I thought I was going to enjoy a short period of freedom from hospital. My liaison nurse, T, has now arranged a physio appointment next Thursday to get my breast muscle into better shape after the accident (which it seems is not mentioned in my medical record!) so I can manage the radiotherapy without exacerbating things further. Two visits on one week :( Imagine what I’ll be like when I have to go every day!! Meantime, it’s frozen peas followed by heat pad and gentle stretching. Great for the muscle but quite how my rib cartilage will like it, I don’t know. Still, an actually-happening physio appointment is like gold in the Bexley Wing.