Jesus! Someone has cancer...

So...

It turns out, Ladies and Gentlemen, that I, Constanze Aloysia Dennis, have Acute Myloid Leukaemia. So, in order to keeps you all informed of my adventures and misbehaviours, as well as cure this infernal cabin fever and horrendous bordom, I am starting this epic blog. Ah, I am trendy.

But where to begin... Maybe at the beginning. Yes, that could work. It all started when I got back from uni, I became really rather ill. At first the doctor thought I had a chest infection and gave me some sexy antibiotics, but the didn't have any effect... The drama started when I went back and she made me have a blood test. Some lovely old lady with hearing that only functioned in 0.7 ears stole a few test tubes of my blood, told me I looked pale and then kicked me out so she could shove needles in babies... That very evening I was minding my own business in the living room when there was a knock at the door. My mother answered. It was a doctor and a nurse. Mum though it was some labour candidates bothering us with leaflets and useless policies and tried to get shut of them, but their persistance and NHS cards got the better of her and she let them in, despite having watched crimewatch religiously all her life...
Luckily, the had no hammers, guns or other offensive weapons and showed no desire to rob, maime or rape us. They did however have a slight look of worry and panic in their eyes as they informed me I had better get to the hospital jolly quick or face certain death. Or at least worsening illness. Despite my blood levels being 5 instead of the healthy 11.8-14.8, they still made me cadge a lift with my Grandad to Calow Hospital. It's nice to know where all my taxes go...

And that's how I got to hospital. That was last Wednesday. Since then there have been many events, stories, parties, blood transfusions, cultural revolutions, bone marrow samples, office chairs, cats, dogs, kisses, rapes, assassinations, deaths, owls, cakes, Bloodhound Gangs, Hungarian doctors.... I can't possibly recall them all but I shall make for you the edited highlights. From this day on I shall be writing this at least once a day, so you will hear every gritty and witty detail, you lucky things! God, I am such a good friend. I should probably get the nobel prize for being so fucking amazing.

"How am I feeling?" I hear you all ask. Right now, fucking awesome, mostly because I'm full of pints and pints of other peoples' blood. Maybe even yours. I do get tired easily, but I've never had a better excuse to nap, so I'm not complaining. I swear to god I caught this off the cat. Can I eat mice? They're not on my list of banned "As if it's not bad enough you've got cancer you're not allowed cream cheese" foods list. WAIT. I FUCKING LIED. YES THEY ARE. Undercooked meats. As long as I grill the fuckers first. I hope on of you brings me grilled mouse now. Whoever does will get a lot more friendship ponts, who knows, I might even get you a grilled rodent one day.

Anyway, back to the origional question. What are my deep and dark thoughts on this matter on Leukaemia? Am I distressed and sad? Is my lif over? Bloodyhell no, I think it's mildly hilarious. A lot of people seem to think I'm putting on some brave face or it hasn't hit me yet, but it really has. It's honestly not that bad. I think I think I think I think this way because when I got diagnosed within an hour or two I had friends by my bedside breaking my heart monitor and giving me commentaries aboout duck and grouse revolutions. I'd rather be full of cancer with such wonderful friends than have blood that works an have no one close to me. Plus, there are shedloads of upsides to Leukaemia. Here's a list for those of you who don't like reading paragraphs.

1. I get to wear some fucking hardcore wigs and be more and more like Peter Burns! I won't grow a cock as a side effect though. Sorry ladies.

2. You're probably going to come and visit me and get me a get well soon card. Ah, subliminal messages that broke out.

3. Ecky apologises for putting chewing gum in your sandwich all those years ago.

4. We all know about my Medical Physics related career desires. I get t spend my day surrounded by epic machines that I, Constanze, Queen of all the MRI Scanners, may one day build. The nurses however are annoyingly reluctant to let me take them all to pieces with a screwdriver. Apparently they're worth thousands of pounds and bla bla bla bla... I am in no way a liability! I know all the fucking words to the Safety Dance! I haven't even broken a bone! Wankers. I can fill their gardens with gnomes. Then they will learn.

5. I can make bad cancer jokes and it's ok.

6. Cancer makes a very good conversation topic. It's very good to laugh about and make vulgar chat about. This works best with Andrew and Richard Sillett. You're probably not sick minded enough. Loser.

7. Quotes like this are made-
"If I Could've given cancer to anyone it would've been you"
"Can I have sex with you when you're bald? I've never had sex with a bald person" (That one was said by a man, worryingly. As his first reaction to finding out.)
"If the chemo fries your eggs you can keep your ovaries inside me!" I have such a kind boyfriend. Terrifying he's doing physics at Oxford.

8. Leukaemia doesn't actually have a major effect on the most important things on my life. My friends, my physics and my looks. If anything, it enhances them, I become closer to my friends, I have more time to do physics, and my hair falls out, whoop de doo. So ahahahahaha blast cells, I win again! Mwa ha ha! Aha! Ha ha ha!

9. I get free sanitary towles on the NHS. I can, quite literally, bleed them dry.

10. CUNT. I have run out. I might think of more.

11. Though of one. I get showered with amazing gifts. No, not flowers. No, not diamonds rings. Better than those. Things that put a real smile on your face. So far my gift list includes pickled onions, glitter, Thai sugar crystals, sunglasses, strawberries, balloon animals, gingerbread gentlemen, an erotic novel, blue tac, pajamas... I feel like a princess! The pickled onions were my personal favorite. There's nothing like fermented vegtables to kill those cancer cells. Pow! Pow!

Jesus, my optimism terrifies me. My grandad said something stupid like I didn't understand properly unless I was upset or something. But I understand everything... All that SCIENCE. SCIENCE. Sexy science. I love science. So much science! I shall take over this world with science. Build robots out of old and broken blod pressure monitors with lazer eyes that dance and have an unquenchable urge to climb high and higher up mountains until they reach the top and then fly and I have no idea how this will help me take over the world maybe they will block out all the sunlight in their vast numbers and everyone will beg for mercy and I shall command them all to stop flying and make a new and giant planet next door to Earth for days out where all the kids can fall over and cut their knees and parents can electrcute themselves for fun and there will be curly wire bungee jumping and amazing sights of flashing lights like the northen lights but better and it shall be powered by the burning of all the boring peoples on the earth and SSH NOW CONSTANZE.

I think of all the people around me my Grandad's coping the worst, he's that kind of generation that got taught to supress emotions.... It's horrible to watch, I really wish I could force my optimism and happiness onto others. The only downside to this is its effect on others, people have this terrifying tendancy to worry. And think I'm going to die. I might, true. But it's just and event that sorrow has absolutely no effect on. That's the job of all those sexy cancer drugs. An armed army of friends and family can't fit in my veins to have battles with blast cells, that's not your job! You're all too bloody big and fat!

So, yes. Yes doctors, I am drinking plenty of fluids. My message to you is to try to not bloody worry. I shall be fine, I have serious skills at fighting Leukaemia, I had all that practise back in 'Nam.

I think this is a suitable introduction to Constanze's Sexy Leukaemia. I am going for a shower in order to become a cleaner human being, then I shall make my next blog post which shall contain all sorts of wondrous stories about happenings in the hospital so far. There will be tales of all those shing things I mentioned earlier, so be sure to keep reading! This is here to keep you sods informed remember, there will be tests.

Hmm. Now I am not sure how to end this. Is it costomary to sign it, like a letter, with kisses? I normally spray my letters with perfume, how do I incorporate that element? My science informs me that spraying the screen will not be effective. Or do I just write some witty phrase? Maybe a teasing statement about my next blog? SHIT, I did that, but now I've started writing all this crap, and I'm not deleting it after all these calories I've buurnt writing it. I might end with the time. NO, they put that on automatically. Oh cruddinghell. This is more stressfull than cancer. Not as stressful as spilling that glitter in my bed though. But that's in my next post...

YES. Did it.