(…and apologies to anyone (a) under 40 and/or (b) not a Brit as that cultural reference will have gone over your head without parting your hair. Yes I am over 40. I realise that is a shock. I should break these things to you more gently, I know.)
I’m into the final furlong of my week at the Christie, the end is hopefully in sight, and I get out tonight. (Sweet Bird of Space, hurrah!!)
It’s been a mixed week – mostly the choice being which meal shall I barf up next?
In addition, I had a ‘fabulous’ Friday wherein I hurled myself out of a bath and nutted the (very sharp) edge of a hazardous waste bin. Yup, a drama queen to the last, huh? Clearly I wasn’t getting enough attention throwing up, so I decided to throw a faint for a change. One moment I was towelling myself off, the next minute I was flat on my back with my heels in the air (if anyone dares say ‘no change there, then’ I swear I shall SUE your asses), surrounded by nurses asking me how many fingers I could count.
I am now sporting a fine scar, picture attached (only if you have email – sorry Myspace friends, I’m so not posting it). I think the dopey grin is sheer relief that I didn’t faint while I was IN the bath… hmmm.
But my week has improved dramatically since then (could it get worse?) when I discovered that I could order halal meals – yes, CURRY!!!!
For some bizarre reason I thought the halal menu was for Muslims only, but no, not at all. Since then I have been stuffing myself cheerfully with real food. Rice! Veggies! Biriani! Wheee!
.. And I’ll be honest, I think one of the reasons I’ve been so bloody queasy is that the hospital food, though ‘nice’, is nothing like the food I eat at home. And it has been difficult for me to digest anyway… even without chemo to help it on its way.
So my lovelies, take care out there, and Nil Illegitimi Carborundum.
IV Bag Lady