![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Of all the depressing aspects of this, the worst is watching strands of hair magically appear on everything I wash up. I don't even notice it when I wash my hair, no, it only shows up when I am in the kitchen, or eating, and suddenly notice long strands on plates/ in the sink. There aren't many considering I'm of Scottish-Spanish descent so basically a short wookiee, but it's a gross creepy phenomenon and it makes me want to cry.
I try to force myself out of it. After all, they are going to want to talk to me about follow up chemo or radiation therapy so I have to face this at some point. Right now, I instinctively feel my answer will be no. I also try to recall others who are facing far more serious issues, remind myself how I am at the easy end of this.
No, not the easy end of this, there is no easy end. There's easier. I am at the easier end of this.
I have phoned my local surgery over 20 times this morning because I need represcription. Got through once, was told to phone back after 10. Now of course, the phone line is permanently engaged. And sometimes I just think you know, why not sit back and forget treatment, just bomb through the next few months having an absolutely fantastic time until you're at party's end with a lot of morphine? Go to Vietnam, get back to Botswana, and all this wide beautiful world, why not accept this as an endpoint and cram everything in beforehand? Why feel like sh*t until you absolutely have to?
And then I see the face of my mother, my brother, my husband, other faces too... And realise that there are more people than me to be hurt by the whole terrible crumbling. And the very fact that I am thinking like this suggests some form of depression. Let's be a childish human because children are so full of life, so cue Bratboot: I don't want to lose my hair! I don't want to spend all morning on the phone for drugs I will die without! I don't want any of this! Stomp!
There now.
This will be easier once these people answer the phone. Remembering the ease and privilege of this, that all it takes is patience, on the phone, with people, with myself. Patience and the party lasts a whole lot longer. What's a few bits of hair compared to that?
Thinking of other things. There are good things happening soon, a Halloween party local enough for me to leave when I tire. They want me to come as Morticia! The trip to the museum warehouse. The BCC meeting which has been turned into a thorough pigs ear. An amazing old pamphlet about local history, which has me goggling slightly at its poetic and probably unverifiable claims.The Hardinge books being so interesting; The Lie Tree is very good,instantly accessible. A Face Like Glass is not so easy because it introduces an entirely new world, as opposed to the Victorian edged genre I know well enough to lose myself in within seconds. I am not sure the world in AFLG convinces me yet; a child falls into a vat of cheese, forcing me into a spasm of puerile 'blessed are the cheesemakers' gifs. Must try harder.
29 attempts; last has worked. Two working days.
I try to force myself out of it. After all, they are going to want to talk to me about follow up chemo or radiation therapy so I have to face this at some point. Right now, I instinctively feel my answer will be no. I also try to recall others who are facing far more serious issues, remind myself how I am at the easy end of this.
No, not the easy end of this, there is no easy end. There's easier. I am at the easier end of this.
I have phoned my local surgery over 20 times this morning because I need represcription. Got through once, was told to phone back after 10. Now of course, the phone line is permanently engaged. And sometimes I just think you know, why not sit back and forget treatment, just bomb through the next few months having an absolutely fantastic time until you're at party's end with a lot of morphine? Go to Vietnam, get back to Botswana, and all this wide beautiful world, why not accept this as an endpoint and cram everything in beforehand? Why feel like sh*t until you absolutely have to?
And then I see the face of my mother, my brother, my husband, other faces too... And realise that there are more people than me to be hurt by the whole terrible crumbling. And the very fact that I am thinking like this suggests some form of depression. Let's be a childish human because children are so full of life, so cue Bratboot: I don't want to lose my hair! I don't want to spend all morning on the phone for drugs I will die without! I don't want any of this! Stomp!
There now.
This will be easier once these people answer the phone. Remembering the ease and privilege of this, that all it takes is patience, on the phone, with people, with myself. Patience and the party lasts a whole lot longer. What's a few bits of hair compared to that?
Thinking of other things. There are good things happening soon, a Halloween party local enough for me to leave when I tire. They want me to come as Morticia! The trip to the museum warehouse. The BCC meeting which has been turned into a thorough pigs ear. An amazing old pamphlet about local history, which has me goggling slightly at its poetic and probably unverifiable claims.The Hardinge books being so interesting; The Lie Tree is very good,instantly accessible. A Face Like Glass is not so easy because it introduces an entirely new world, as opposed to the Victorian edged genre I know well enough to lose myself in within seconds. I am not sure the world in AFLG convinces me yet; a child falls into a vat of cheese, forcing me into a spasm of puerile 'blessed are the cheesemakers' gifs. Must try harder.
29 attempts; last has worked. Two working days.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}