moaning

First of all, this is not going to be my best work, in regard to writing. I don't apologise for this, because it has just taken about 1 hour to muster the energy to plug in the laptop and logon, so think yourself lucky you're not staring at the previous blog entry.

I am back at home now, after my dad dropped me off, showing off some pretty good parenting skills for someone without a great track record of this sort of thing.

So, back on the sofa, in front of my HD TV with Sky HD. If I die here, I will die happy. I would hate to die in front on a non-HD TV with no Sky. That would be the modern equalivent of being run down by a bus with dirty underpants on.

Right then - a run down of my moans. I'm not sure where we left off on Christmas Day, but I started being sick before dinner, which was less insulting than doing it afterwards. I did manage to eat my dads traditional Christmas Dinner of monkfish and scallops, with all the roast trimmings.

At this point, I wasn't actually too bad - but as the afternoon wore on the nausea increased and although I was only sick once more, the nausea didn't go away all day. Or night.

Boxing day was pretty much a repeat. Sick twice. Lots of heavy nausea. My dad did manage to take me to a pub, as that's exactly where any recovering alcoholic with chemotherapy sickness needs to be. However, the soda water did help and I think me ol' man deserved a pint or two, as it can't be a lot of fun waiting on a thinning, white, pasty looking, vomiting person on the sofa - unless it was Kate Moss. He'd probably like that.

I went to bed early - the nights are tough - I hate them. It goes something like this. Dose off. Wake up every 20 mins in a panic, with a mouth as dry the bottom of a parrot cage - gulp water, wake up every 45 minutes to go to the toilet. Repeat about 15 times a night.

Today, I woke up feeling a bit better. The nausea had gone from 8/10 to 6/10 and was a welcome relief. I did manage to get around to see my lovely nan, uncle and family members - all who are (somewhat embarrasingly) reading this blog. It was good to see them, although my contribution to the conversation was a bit limited.

Whilst all this was happening, I was introduced to a new side effect - a sore mouth.

I was warned about this ... it feels really strange - tastes metallic. The inside of my mouth feels sore, raw and eating is a challenge really.

Speaking of which, the appetite has taken a nose dive and I'm must not sure what I want to eat, if anything.

The nausea ramped up again later and ... Oh, Christ - I'm boring myself now. It's fair to say that I'm quite shocked at how RUBBISH I feel after one dose of this stuff and I must confess that I'm really not looking forward to the next few months.

I'm praying that tomorrow I can get out to see Avatar, which I have pre-booked tickets for at the London iMax. I've been looking forward to this for a while. I guess if I puke into a carrier bag whilst watching the film, people will just assume it's the 3D effect.

OK - that's enough of my pity pot. I'll let you go now ... come back soon to hear me moan some more.

Oh yeah, I still have all my hair.