If you heard something you thought was a crazy banshee on party drugs, that was me.
The Macmillan Cancer Centre told me they were going to call me this afternoon. Instead, they called this morning and it’s taken me a while to calm down enough to type.
The level of cancer in my body has dropped a whole bunch of points. Everything else is okay, except I have to stop taking calcium supplements because I’ve got a little too much.
So I’m off calcium supplements and I don’t get another oncology appointment for another six months. Just as well. I need a couple of days to pull myself together after this one.
So now I know. Cancer is afraid of me. It should be.
It wasn’t until we booked the car to get us to the Macmillan Cancer Centre for my usual blood test that I realised what’s been biting me for the past couple of weeks.
I think of my oncology check-ups as routine—after all, I’ve been cruising since mid-2015. I have no worrying new symptoms, just the usual side-effects from the progesterone. All told, there’s really nothing to worry about.
I only think I think of my oncology check-ups as routine. My subconscious mind is only too willing to pick up the slack in the anxiety department. I’ve had a hard time concentrating for the past couple of weeks even on minor things. I thought for a while I had forgotten how not to fidget all the time.
I’ll have my oncology check-up on Thursday afternoon, by telephone, and despite my getting nothing but encouraging news for the past six years—i.e., that although I’m not in remission, I still have my Technicolor Doc Martens boot firmly on cancer’s neck—I will be no good for anything until I hear from one of the oncologists.
Life in Cancerland: no matter how well-adjusted you may think you are, you’re not. Pro tip: that’s okay. It’s not your job to be well-adjusted. Your job is to stay alive. Trust me; I‘m experienced.
To be continued on Thursday afternoon.