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.
It's funny what sorts of worries cross your mind in the dead of night. Lying in bed last night at 3am I realised I have no idea how to approach makeup during chemo. Some ponderous highlights include: When it takes my hair and I'm rocking the Jean-Luc Picard vibe, where do I draw the line... Continue Reading →
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.
Whenever I have had to have an injection, I've tried to rationalise my fear by telling myself "it could be so much worse - sure, the 'flu jab is scary, but it's not like it's a bone marrow biopsy or anything". The idea of that particular procedure terrified me so much that everything else paled in comparison, and I was just glad I never had to face it. Until I did have to face it.
It's easy to look back and think 'why didn't I notice earlier?' (you know, before my cancer got to Stage 4), but the truth is that hindsight is 20/20 and when you're actually living through these symptoms they feel so unrelated and random.
Annoyingly, I now have to use a crutch because they're worried that the cancer has weakened my hip/pelvis/leg on the right side enough that I could quite easily fracture something like my femur. I really detest crutches - they are gangly, awkward and make my hands hurt. But use them I must I suppose - it's probably less cumbersome than having a fractures femur.
Today I faced a major fear of mine (having a cannula inserted), offered to bite a nurse, and experienced some kickass cool technology thanks to the NHS.
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?
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The [Other] C Word 