Radiotherapy finished last Friday and somehow I feel like I've just woken up and nearly a week has passed. How on earth did that happen?
I get to see the lovely haematologist next week to check on how it went but I generally they all seem to think they achieved what they wanted to. Huzzah!
The week has been a bit of a blur. Uncle Richard's funeral was on Monday down in Lincolnshire but I wasn't able to attend thanks to yet an appointment. Apparently getting poked by medical professionals is my new past time. One grandparent is out of hospital so things are moving in the right direction.
I would love to say that RT finished and suddenly the world erupted into colour and beauty but frankly we don't live in a movie so nothing like that happened. Instead, next door's teenager and his friends got drunk on our roof and smashed the tiles so I got a crack in my ceiling with the added joy of water spewing through the ceiling. Thankfully Hairy is basically the handiest man alive and he promptly went onto the roof to replace the broken tiles but I would quite like to kick that stupid boy in the face for the damage caused.
I then dropped the hoover and the handle snapped off. I've hit my head in three different places on the skylight and berated a delivery driver for having no manners...and I've slept. I've REALLY slept. I've got some new lumps that I'm staring at. It's always fun playing 'spot or lesion' but I'm sure the haematologist will be able to have a good look and tell me how many I got right. I hope there's a prize (and not just another cancer treatment dressed up as a prize).
Hairy still hasn't got a new car and this is upsetting him greatly. I'm not a man (obviously) who loves all things motory so I don't really understand his desperation to get the perfect new car to fall in love with but I'm happy to support him by nodding knowingly when he talks miles per gallon and engine sizes. I can now say all the right words without any real comprehension of what he's on about so I almost pass for an interested party. Go Ginger!
I can't wait to get back to 'normal' but apparently I need to be more with it before they'll agree to let me be in charge of a group of people. Rationally that makes perfect sense but I'm not good at being off; it' so bloomin' dull! Hairy I think is tiring of me not being the full shilling, especiallly when I say things that he doesn't quite catch and when he asks me what I said, I have absolutely no idea. He's basically living with a goldfish isn't he.
Apparently half the staff at work are now magically aware of why I'm off because keeping a secret amongst 250 people who are paid to talk was never going to work but I'm happy for them to think I'm unaware of this development if nothing else so I don't get any sympathy squeezers sticking their nose in when I pop into work. It's now the 'doom eyes' that is causing me irritation. I find it totally odd that if I'm the one who had cancer why am I reassuring people that their dramatic puppy doom eyes really don't need to be directed at me. Last time I went into work they all said they couldn't understand how I looked so well. I felt like explaining to them that I didn't get the plague and it's not like I've had anything so drastic done to me that I would expect to look any different at all. This is a good thing but I feel like I've disappointed them by looking alright! I did offer to come in with no make up on if that would make them feel better since I look rather grim without it on at the moment. I don't normally wear make up either but I think all the lovely infections I've caught have rather settled my face into an even paler version of itself. I'm just so darn sexy!
I guess now I'm in the camp of waiting again. I'm not stressed like I was before though. I figure if this is what life looks like going forward then so be it. With any luck it'll stay dormant for ages but if it doesn't at least I know the people at the Freeman are just lovely and being strapped into place with lasers pointed at you every day isn't nearly as bad as the alternatives. If I go back enough times maybe I really can become the Hulk? That might just stay an unattainable dream of course. I'm hoping when I see the haematologist he'll tell me all the other lumps and bumps are nothing more sinister than spots (that I really think I ought to be too old for at 26) and then I get to stay on watch and wait to see if anything develops. It's a little bit to adjust to because it's not like it's a finite thing; this is something that will be a part of my life forever now and I think dwelling on that too long might be scary, even if I am told that I'm growing a 'Casper the friendly ghost' version of cancer since it refuses to leave but it's not too intrusive most of the time.
Anyhoo, I figure eventually it won't have to be the main focus of our lives. After all, I have a wedding to plan and a house to fix! Onwards I say; I can't let dodgey cells get in the way of getting on with the life I have.
