As I write, it's day nine (which, the eagle eyed amongst you will have spotted, means that I start my DIY G-CSF injections today. Fuuuuuuuuuu-), and so time for a recap of day 8. Which, if I'm being honest, was a total bugger of a day.
It all started with a call from our daughter to say that she might have cancer. At that point our lives changed forever.
Instead I have been wading my way wide-eyed and babbling incoherently through myriad conversations about my fertility. Basically, am I ever going to want to grow some sproglets inside of me one day? Because [spoiler alert], cancer and its subsequent treatment might make my chances of natural conception as likely as Trump winning an honorary ACLU award.
My personal relationship with mental health conditions was the main factor in why I immediately sought (and continue to seek) information regarding mental health support for cancer patients. Not only was I worried about my own mental health, and the mental health of my loved ones, but on top of that I was wracked with guilt.
But what to do with my preliminary diagnosis? Do I turn to the internet with my as-yet-unconfirmed worries and risk making a drama out of nothing? Do I force my parents' hands into telling our wider family by making my fears public?
"Can you come in for an emergency appointment today, and is there anyone you can bring with you?"
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The [Other] C Word 