Game of Thrones

If it’s not one, it’s another. My time is spent either on the toilet or sitting in a waiting room. Fortunately we have 3 toilets in the apartment, on one I frequently immerse my bottom into salty water, on another I have  to hobble quickly (difficult) and frequently. I dislike public toilets immensely, but unfortunately have to spend much time on the Hospital ones. After arriving at the hospital, I check in, and a little (sometimes a long time) later, I am told to start drinking. I then have to empty my bladder, and down 2 litres of water in 10 minutes I then sit and wait for an hour, in which time I cannot go to the toilet. By the time I am called in for the treatment, I have to try and walk with my knees together. This is a difficult manoeuvre when one leg doesn’t work! When the radiotherapy session is finished, I get dressed and bolt in a hobbly sort of way to the toilet. I am often beaten to it by a desperate looking man dressed only in his hospital gown, shoes and socks (??) and underpants exposed at the back. Fortunately that is all that is exposed. How in the hell do they manage to get shoes and socks on? Some don’t bother and slide along in bare feet, again, thank God that is all that is bare. Why do they always leave the seat up? In case you are wondering, if your bladder is full, it rises, which keeps it out of the way of the rays. I feel as mine sinks not rises.

Junior daughter arrived on Monday, and C.B. was granted shore leave. She proved herself to extremely competent nurse. It was rather special to spend time with her, away from interruptions from grandchildren. Much loved senior sister-in-law and hubby visited from Leamington Spa on Tuesday. We managed a meal out on the Marina. I felt a bit of a fraud sitting enjoying a glass of wine in the sunshine, as I must add, did Nursey, who is on compassionate leave!

Since having the door handle fixed, the internet crashed, the hot water boiler is leaking and the washing machine has gremlins. Is it us? I think they will be glad to see us leave.


Junior daughter bade  a tearful  farewell on  Friday. Serious Bloke, arriving from Gatwick by train had planned to meet me at the hospital at 6.30. For the one and only time, I didn’t have to wait for a taxi. Needless to say SB wasn’t there. He was on the bus from the station on his long way to the hospital (??) He did claim a taxi would have taken just as long.... My driver said to tell him to stay on the bus as it would go straight back town, as he couldn’t wait. I told SB I would see him back at apartment. After a round Britain journey and hours later, he arrived, somewhat flushed, announcing he could have bloody well walked faster! We didn’t spend the evening in total marital bliss.

Yesterday we visited an ex Kenya friend in Chichester where we watched the wonderful Royal Wedding - even Cabin Boy, who swore he would be as far away as possible! We drank Sussex sparkling wine (appropriate) ate a large lunch and had a long walk. As a result I have spent today in bed.......I know, I always overdo it!

I am sore and burning. The salt baths help, but I think the red hot poker is still sitting there. Pain killers now help a little. Is this really happening?? Why me? But then I suppose, why not? Why all the others who are worse than me? Some of whom with young children. Fucking cancer. I don’t feel
as if I can say I can kick it in the arse, it is well and truly kicking me there.

Now I am a glow worm,
A glow worm’s never glum,
Cos how can you be grumpy,
When the sun shines out your bum!

(Thanks to AP)








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