Stinking

I smell revolting, I noticed it the day before yesterday, but it is definatly getting worse. I don't mean i haven't had a wash in a while and its getting a bit whiffy, or that i have the kind of wind that causes the dog to bury its nose in the sofa, and is probably eating away at the ozone layer as we speak. No it is my flesh rotting away. I smell like a decomposing corpse. My burnt skin is peeling away and not in the pleasant sunburnt type way, more like gangreen. And the smell is foul, I can't handle it. I've come to terms with looking like a monster, i'm dealing with the exposed raw flesh, coping with waking up and finding chunks of what was previously me in my bed, and when i'm lying in the bath my disentergrating skin sways in the rippling bath water like seaweed caught in the lapping tide all of this i'm handling, but the smell is becoming offensive beyond belief.

Four days and counting

My days as a cancer patient are drawing to a close, (in a good way, not as in i'm about to face the final curtain- frank sinatra/sid vicious,) I have only four sessions of radiotherapy left! Roll on thursday. It has to be said though, although i was forwarned about the possible side effects of the treatmant, i really didn't expect it to be the struggle to get through that it has. I wasn't prepared for this level of damage to my skin, and certainly wasn't prepared for this much pain. Aside from the skin damage, the rt has caused inflammation to all the internal scarring from the operation which is almost as painful as things were the week or so after the op. As well, all the burnt skins itches like crazy.
So when i'm done with all of this what will become of this blog? Well i think it too is drawing towards a natural conclusion. I wanted to provide a narrative to my journey as a cancer patient, possibly one that others in similar circumstances may find not nessercarily comforting but prahaps insightful. More than that this blog became a cathartic process for me to better understand my own turmoil of emotion. I don't think i'm done unraveling my own feelings about all of this but i think its time i picked up a paintbrush and at least exploited my illness as subject matter to further expand my portfolio. I think people have found all of this at times unsettling to read, whilst my mother says i am refeshingly honest i think most others would say brutally so. I think i have missed huge chapters of this, radiotherapy has made me too apathetic to blog all the time and to some degree, due to the way some people have responded to all of this, i have lost my confidence in what i'm doing. Maybe i will go back and fill in the blanks. Right now i'm too tired, too morphined, and I don't even know what i'm trying to say. I guess i felt like i should write some kind of conclusion.

ingratitude

I am slightly taken a back, and rather disturbed, to anyone who frequents my blog, check the link on the anonymous comment on "any one for the sunbed?" and i think you'll share my feelings. I having problems constructing sensible sentences, as i've just taken my first dose of morphine, so i hope i can make myself clear. I'm almost insulted by the fact that i have been wished luck in my battle against cancer by some dickhead that runs a pro anorexia site. They like my site? Good i'm glad you found my struggled enjoyable to read about, and i wonder does the image of my burnt flesh turn you on. Pro anorexia? I mean i, like millions of others are struggling through this, i've just come back from velindre where day in day out i see people putting themselves through horendous invasive greuling treatment just to get a little extra time on this earth with their loved ones. And yet, someone reads my blog, reads how hard it has been and yet has the ordasity to think i may be interested in pro ana sites where you're activly supporting and even applauding people who are choosing to kill themselves for the sake of a few fucking dress sizes. Fuck off, Fuck off,Fuck off, Fuck off, Fuck off, Fuck off,Fuck off, Fuck off. How dare you treat life with such irrefference. It is a gift, be thankful.

Anyone for the sunbed?

attack of the spiders

they are everywhere, huge hulking hairy wee beasties skuttling around creeping up on me. 6 in the last five days, three in the bathroom, one next to me on the sofa, one apearing at my feet whilst reading bedtime stories, and one in the bedroom. The latest of these incidents occured about an hour ago, me and b tucking in to our second chapter of james and the giant peach, and its there at my feet, i leapt through the air,scream for nic, and burst in to tears. b simply chuckles at me, (he loves spiders) and says "mummy i haven't got enough room" what with me standing on top of him and everything, and then as i clamber down, he pipes up with "don't put your feet on my jigsaw" kids are wicked. Spiders are bloody not.

i haven't written anything for ages, and feel mildly guilty and am being nagged to do so, so here it is. Except i don't have a lot to say. I'm bored of of listening to my self whine on about radiotherapy, and i sure so is the rest of the world. I do however only have eight sessions left! Whoo hoo. I am beginning to look not unlike a slightly over cooked crispy peking duck though. And i hasten to had I feel like one too. Mmm mmn plum sauce, oh god wish i hadn't said that or infact thought it as now my head is filled with notions of nic and i doing strange things with plum sauce, drizzling it over my toasted skin....no i am not turned on just slightly disturbed by my own train of thought. Plum sauce charred flesh, definatly the furthest thing from sexy. I'm just too exhausted to write antything even vaguly intelligent, I want to be able to wax lyrical at great length about my experiences at velindre (cancer hospital) how moving it all is seeing people going through this harrowing time, how traumatic it is for me, but that sound a bit pretentious adn self indulgent. And i'm too knackered. But i will say this velindre radiotherapy department is not too dissimilar from the leisure centre around which the brittas empire was set. There is always the looming possibility that Mr brittas is going to come around the corner with "ahh colin..."and they play tunes like copa cabana, it might even being a recording made by other patients trying to cheer themselves up with some good old kareoke, they play it at that really annoying volume where its just loud enouhg to annoy you but not loud enough to really hear and that makes it all the more annoying. they sell some quite biazzare stuff too, you've got your obligitory wrvs kiosk sell welsh cakes adn tea that taste s like, i can't even think what i might liken it to, suffice to say nothing like a cup of tea, the chinsey china tea cup and saucer make you feel like they care though, but in addition to this at the reception desk tehy sell wrist bands galor, cartoon road runner type birds with fluffy heads in a selection of fluresent colour that...wait for it...remove the feet and hey presto! its a pen, bling type watches and pendants,all in the name of raising money for cancer, btu it all heightens the experience of radiotherapy to reach a new level of surreal. Before i go, a quick one to all you smokers out there. The other day i walk past the entrance to the chemo department and theres a lady sat there, in her wheel chair, bandanna clad, (its like a uniform for chemo patients) chemo dripping in to ventlon in the back of one hand, and yes you guessed it, fag in the other. That will be you one day. Nos da

a rollercoaster ride

It was o first birthday today, and i have just been watching video tape of when he was first born. Our little family has come so far in the last year, we have got through so much. I am bloody proud.

My little computer is dying. I think so, any way, it is certainly not very well, not very well at all. Nietheir for that matter am I. Spent all of Monday night awake holding bowls and rubbing the backs of my vomiting children, who were doing their best impressions of the little girl in the exorsist, you know the scene I’m referring to. Any way Tuesday followed Monday, as it tends to do, and brought with it more vomit. I was sick. (About twenty minutes after you were chlo) It wasn’t as agonising as a expected what with the scarring, silastic mesh, and no stomach muscles thing. Still fairly herendous though.
I am now over half way through my radiotherapy treatment. Woo hoo! Can't wait to not have to go and lie in that stupid machine, and feel sick for hours afterwards, can't wait to not have diareaoh, for my skin not to be raw, to actually have some energy and enthusiasim, to have my libido back. Mum, stop reading now please. This is a new developement in terms of radiotherapy side effects. Whilst not as painful or uncomfortable as all the other side effects it is causing problems never the less. Celibacy makes me grumpy, it makes nic grumpy too, not that he'd say so, so now in additon to everything else i have to whine about i'm ratty too.
I'll stop being so self absorbed for a moment, one htought that does reoccur time and time again as I complain about all of this, i am lucky i'm am going through all of this in order to reduce my chances of reoccurence, i am not going through this to buy myself time. I am sharply reminded of this everyday sitting in the treatment waiting room, previously I didn't understand peolple wwho made the choice to refuse treatmant tht gave bought them more time, surely more time wiht the people you love is worth anything? Any amount of invasive, rigoris treatmaent. Whereas now i am only too aware how nieve this thinking was. go to go kids are home.