Still here

That last blog was a pinch of dark, wasn't it? Unavoidable, I suppose. So, let's try and do some lighter stuff.  I've no idea what yet. I never have had much of a clue what words would come next when writing these - seems to work.  Nice things 😳🤣😉🤗 People! 😍 Seems a good place to start. I love people. People are awesome. Honestly, people are brilliant. Obviously, some are complete twats on a stick, but I think for the purposes of this bit of scribbling, we'll filter them out...mostly. 😉  You! Yes, you there reading this! You're amazing! And, more importantly, not a twat on a stick. I mean, if you're reading this, it's likely we know each other quite well via some fortunate event in our lives that caused us to meet and then stay in touch, you're amazing. I would have filtered you out by now were you not, and let's say...a bit of a twat on a stick.  People fascinate me. Especially when one is out and about and you accidentally slip into "peo

Back home from 5 days in St Benedict's Hospice.  New banister has been fitted on the staircase, a new fancy bed has been delivered and plumbed in. It's like the ones you kip in while in hospital, mind this one has a fancy air mattress that seems to adjust to your movements. They had similar in St Benedict's Hospice and it is quite comfortable once you tune out the infrequent air noises being pumped in or released.  I think a wheelchair is on its way, too - I'm actually okay with this. I thought I'd be huffing and puffing about it and whinging my arse off that I didn't need one. The fact is that if we go for a walk, I may well need it to get back. I can concede I'm physically so far beyond fit or even close to a normal condition that walking upstairs has me out of breath.  This is partly due to the fluid build up in my legs and feet. Proper weird. It's usually fine first thing in the morning, but then, as gravity kicks in, my legs and feet balloon up and

My intention from the outset of doing these blogs was to only mention and update on my cancer progress, but it seems to have forced its way in and, not dominated, but been more of a focus that I'd have liked.  This blog is going to be purely about the bastard. I'll give it the spotlight this once.  CT Scan results: Shit. The results are proper shit. That about covers it, really. 😉 The chemotherapy treatment hasn't and isn't working. In fact, all areas of tumours, and new sites, are positively thriving. If you threw a bucket of darts at my body core, you'll likely hit a bit of my creepy companion. So, the chemo has been stopped. It sounds obvious, doesn't it? I still felt the need to ask and make sure.  Yep, no more chemo! Yay! It's a tricky one this and difficult to get happy about either way. Having chemo gives you some hope - not having it, or rather knowing that it is now pointless, is more than a little disheartening. As much as I hated chemo, and I rea

Tuesday of this week saw me have a CT scan. I haven't got a date for the results appointment yet but they're usually about a week or two after the scan.  'Scanxiety' is a word I heard from a fellow cancer patient some time ago and referred to their fears and build up of anxiety prior to having a scan. I'm pretty sure I didn't get 'scanxiety' at the time or prior to hearing it, but it made sense, I understood what it meant to them and sympathised. It reminded me of the 'Smondays', which was a word used by some staff at Castle View when I worked there. That feeling on a Sunday night where panic and doubt sets in and you question everything you've done in preparation for the days and week ahead. Then panic more and sprinkle some stress over it all for flavour. That, I used to get. It ruined whole weekends, not just the Sunday evening. *I need to return to this at some point, so please remind me.* The scanxiety feeling stayed away for years, even

Blog 6 is a tad different. Still a blog of sorts, but also where I've decided to dump some poems I wrote a while ago and want to share it here. It's a mixed bag of styles and content and if I put it here, then it's in one place and easily retrievable when I want it.  All of these came from a moment of inspiration and then I'd write nothing for ages or I would churn something out and realise it's a bit cack. I envy proper writers, man.  I've saved things in loads of different places (Old USBs, laptops, harddrives, emails) and forgotten most of it until accidentally stumbling upon them. Some of you may have seen them before. Quite a few I can't find.  Here goes... They are in no particular order at all.  This first one was written about my mate, Ken Little. He was wheeled into my ward 5 and a half years ago after having almost the same surgery as me but a few days behind. They couldn't complete his 'Whipple' as they found his cancer had spread to h

Blog number V or five or 5, or 🖐. V, the worst Rocky film of them all by a long way. It's watchable, but ultimately forgettable and cack.  Free week from chemo! So, that's 6 doses over the last 8 weeks of poison dripped into my arm. Usually and historically, I'd be half way through - they usually book me in for twelve doses, which is roughly four months. However, I've got a sneaky feeling they may keep me on it (if it's working) or switch me to the "Big Guns". The "Big Guns" is a regime of chemo I've done before and it worked at some shrinkage here and a mop up there, but it was brutal. A scan around dose nine is then followed by a chat with my oncologist to tell us what's happening and next steps. For now, nothing to report. No news is good news 'n' that. 😊 I love this week; I don't necessarily feel any better physically, but mentally it's such a relief to not have to go to the Phoenix unit in Sunderland, sit in that ch