Three weeks have slipped by again and I await the call from “my” nurse about Monday’s herceptin dose…Hopefully it will be a short, sharp shock (aka injection) rather than being infused (which makes it sound rather more of an “active” pursuit than it is!). Will she (it has always been a “she”) ring today? tomorrow? Sunday? You would think I would now be used to this but I remain like a coiled spring throughout each round of arrangements and “delivery”. Treatment like this is a constant reminder that I have cancer…I HAVE CANCER – it yells and yells at me. Somehow several daily injections of insulin does not make me shouty in the same way that I HAVE DIABETES. Makes me wonder whether I am perpetuating my own cancer taboo. But…I don’t feel scared so much as afflicted. I think I have “parked” fear for now.
I have handed my collapsing symptoms to the GP and agreed that we will do nothing unless it happens again. I don’t want to spend any more time in hospital departments being investigated for unusual symptoms that undoubtedly will conjure up something like…I am a special case!
I have now been told twice since yesterday morning that I am “a special case” and I don’t think that either context was complimentary!
So…whilst I wait for the call, I fill my day…paying bills, going for a haircut (Yay…2nd one!), trying (again) to make sense of official correspondence that my brain can’t cope with and checking I have the wherewithal to create blood orange margaritas and “rim a cocktail glass” (?) later on…