I don’t want to write this post. I want a funny post that gets more likes and shares. But I’m trying to be honest about my #journey, so here goes….
Half term starts promisingly with a night at a posh hotel, Prosecco on ice and girls opening tiny milk sachets. Sadly, it ends with the children throwing up in the ice bucket. I had a blissful few hours trying not to worry about feeling happy. And then…
This week I can’t be bothered anymore. I’m sick of being sick, of endlessly monitoring symptoms, of being told I’m tolerating the treatment well. I’d love a week off. I fill in a ridiculous medical questionnaire for a potential holiday. Treatment is intended to improve quality of life. Really?!
I can’t face the idea of this being my life from now on. I can’t face the idea of things getting worse. But I feel like a fraud at the chemo unit surrounded by scarved heads and grey faces. Of course, some of them will be ringing the bell soon.
Be careful what you wish for! I’ve got the girls’ sickness bug. This feeling isn’t chemo-induced but an actual normal person bug. Hooray! I get my week off.
These Boobs Were Made For Talking 