I guess the problem with being isolated from the loonies is that there is very little of any comedic value to report. Hence the lack of blogging, for there is not too much to say, save to report that my life is now a steady interruption of various doctors, nurses, cleaners, porters, bed makers, urine-bottle collectors, specialists, blood-takers, dinner givers and bloody well-meaning visitors.
Barely 30 mins goes by without someone wanting something from me, or to give me something. I've lost track of what Im taking orally now, but it's an impressive list. Then there's the chemo bags and the stuff they pump into the central line direct.
Some odd new things for me during this treatments. Steroid eye-drops three times a day. Mouth wash for ulcers. Stomach steroids potions. Eye of newt etc.
I've just retched my first retch. Hardly a bowl-filler but the first signs that my body is beginning to wonder what the fuck I am playing at now.
Overall though, I'm still healthy but speaking to one of the Big Men yesterday, he said that the real troubles won't start until after the treatment have finished. Then the fun will start as this stuff kills bone marrow and white cells. There will be debate as to if I should bother to go home and come back when things got bad or stay here and wait for the infections to start. Hmmm. Time will tell.
It's going to be a long stretch either way. Visitors are great but I'm still in here, tied to the machine and the bed 24/7.
Still, so far, so good. I'm not in shivering, pukey, shit-hell yet and that's about all you can wish for.
A day of sport on the radio helps pass the time. Utd at 15:00. It's the small things that matter.
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Oh, for fucks sake. The premiership football is not this weekend due to the sodding midweek Euro qualifiers. As i said, it is the small things that matter. Bollocks.
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