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But not serious pfff.
Based on over the phone descriptions, they don't think this is the emergence of evil in the lymph nodes; it's happened too quickly, it's painful, and it's on the other side from the tumour. If it keeps growing/suppurates/starts talking to me/tries to form its own civilisation, I'm to call my GP, if it isn't gone in a week I'm to call the cancer team again.
But oh, I am as sick as the proverbial pig this morning. Horrendous. How much of this is anxiety, how much the drugs, I can't tell. Strange though, the only way I discovered the actual breast cancer was because of a little idiosyncracy, almost the opposite of a lump, a near indistinguishable flattering on skin surface, that had me puzzled thinking 'is there a difference there?' No lump detected by me or the GP. The only reason I got a mammogram at all was because the GP told me I was due one anyway so might as well. Strange to think that the thing that could do for me doesn't hurt and is barely detectable, while the thing that comes in with all the drama of pain and swelling is nothing to worry about. Bodies are amazing things but they are also deeply weird.
I will not be able to attend the funeral of a friend who recently died of stomach cancer, but it bothers me that even if I was available, I couldn't hope to pay my respects in person feeling the way I do today. Already dreading car rides, I am soon to test air travel, fingers crossed I'll be OK having never been sick on a plane in my life. But today... today I can do very little, burning up, nauseated. I am so glad we did the walk on Saturday, and I've got to keep doing stuff while I can,just in case future chemo/radiotherapy b*ggers up my hopes for adventures in 24. Still this is unpleasant, and trying to gather my thoughts is hard. I have given apologies, but what to send that suits? Flowers for the passed? Flowers for the living? I have no idea of the appropriate at this stage.
When I die, I want to be buried in a biodegradable casket under a tree in some high place overlooking the sea. And make it a tall tree, because I love the feeling of the wind, a tree that's great for birds and bugs, maybe a beech, good old fagus sylvatica with its wonderful connection to the first books. Happy to have my body feed it and help the world breathe. Bury me with my stories and poems, flowers very welcome, tell me your own stories cos I love them, sing if you want, say goodbye, go party. And if there's no one left to attend the funeral, the tree can grow by itself.
That idea cheers me up, but I am still making very little sense. Again, I must stop. What is this like, when even reading/writing exhausts me?
Based on over the phone descriptions, they don't think this is the emergence of evil in the lymph nodes; it's happened too quickly, it's painful, and it's on the other side from the tumour. If it keeps growing/suppurates/starts talking to me/tries to form its own civilisation, I'm to call my GP, if it isn't gone in a week I'm to call the cancer team again.
But oh, I am as sick as the proverbial pig this morning. Horrendous. How much of this is anxiety, how much the drugs, I can't tell. Strange though, the only way I discovered the actual breast cancer was because of a little idiosyncracy, almost the opposite of a lump, a near indistinguishable flattering on skin surface, that had me puzzled thinking 'is there a difference there?' No lump detected by me or the GP. The only reason I got a mammogram at all was because the GP told me I was due one anyway so might as well. Strange to think that the thing that could do for me doesn't hurt and is barely detectable, while the thing that comes in with all the drama of pain and swelling is nothing to worry about. Bodies are amazing things but they are also deeply weird.
I will not be able to attend the funeral of a friend who recently died of stomach cancer, but it bothers me that even if I was available, I couldn't hope to pay my respects in person feeling the way I do today. Already dreading car rides, I am soon to test air travel, fingers crossed I'll be OK having never been sick on a plane in my life. But today... today I can do very little, burning up, nauseated. I am so glad we did the walk on Saturday, and I've got to keep doing stuff while I can,just in case future chemo/radiotherapy b*ggers up my hopes for adventures in 24. Still this is unpleasant, and trying to gather my thoughts is hard. I have given apologies, but what to send that suits? Flowers for the passed? Flowers for the living? I have no idea of the appropriate at this stage.
When I die, I want to be buried in a biodegradable casket under a tree in some high place overlooking the sea. And make it a tall tree, because I love the feeling of the wind, a tree that's great for birds and bugs, maybe a beech, good old fagus sylvatica with its wonderful connection to the first books. Happy to have my body feed it and help the world breathe. Bury me with my stories and poems, flowers very welcome, tell me your own stories cos I love them, sing if you want, say goodbye, go party. And if there's no one left to attend the funeral, the tree can grow by itself.
That idea cheers me up, but I am still making very little sense. Again, I must stop. What is this like, when even reading/writing exhausts me?
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