Ramblings from a train...

Cancer is cured by kisses.


So, ladies and gents. Today I have returned from a fun filled few days in Oxford town, where I did many things, including seeing Izzy in Sainsburys, wandering around with Eleanor and her (rowing) blade, gaying with Helen, seeing something rather long in Purkiss' room and generally being bothered by James at every hour of the day. I am writing this post on the train home as it's write this or admire the sleeping dribble man next to me. However, a lack of internet connection means I cannot check to see when I last posted, and hence what medical times you have already been informed of. I am almost entirely sure that there has been no mention of my experiences on the BLOOD MACHINE, so I think I shall start with that.

THE BLOOD MACHINE. Well, I don't really know where to begin. After five days of shoving needles in my stomach, it was finally time to get sexy with the BLOOD MACHINE. Monday morning, I have to get up at 6 and get to hospital by 8.30. Not fun. Goths need sleep. In the words of Richard Sillett "Goths are easily tired. Like baby Tamigotchis." I am unsure as to why that quote has been stored in my grey matter. Anyway, they put the hugest needle in world history in my left arm to suck my blood out like NooNoo or a vampire bat and a pathetically small on in my right to let it all trickle back in. I then have to sit with my arms deadly still for 4ish hours. It turns out my fidget disease is worse than we could have ever anticipated. And by the time you escape the BLOOD MACHINE you can't move your arms, legs or bum anymore because they gave up hope of ever being moved again. Now, this process is pretty ok once, but because I am somewhat ill and not in the optimum stem cell producing mode, I have to go back AGAIN on Tuesday and AGAIN on Wednesday. I was not warned of this, henceforth mild annoyance was an emotion which I felt Ache central, was I... Turns out doctor Snowdon wants to completely bleed me dry of cells. I did however make more than he expected in the end. Why yes, I am incredibly amazing, Thankyou for reminding me. The machine makes you so sleepy... Sleeeeeeeppppppppppyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Even sleepier than watching Gordon Brown's face. There were however occasional moments of fun whilst having my stem cells lassooed out. I got to see a spangly man in Spandex. And have Coheed and Cambria on, making a party in my head. And I bled all over a door and some floor. And I got free gauze. And someone called me modest! That is a word that has never been used to describe Constanze Aloysia Dennis before...

I am running low on drugs, Must. Remember. To. Obtain. More. Or face certain death. Quite literally.

Ooo, I have a new doctor in my amazing doctor league table. Mr Libyan Man With Name I Cannot Remember Or Spell. He is from Libya and rather cool. He translated me some Arabic. Mmm, Arabic. So, the table currently goes-

1. Mr Hungarian Doctor
2. Jenny The Doctor
3. Dr Cutting
4. Mr Libyan Man With Name I Cannot Remember Or Spell
5. Mr Doctor Who Did My Last Bone Marrow Really Well

As you can see, names are not my strong point. Oops.

Tomorow I have to go to hospital, but I cannot for the life of me remember why. Probably something to do with this cancer I have. It's only a fortnight until I go in, so I bet it's important. It had better be, they're not allowed to eat into my freedom time without good reason. I might sue. Sew. Sue. SEWER. REWES. WEERS. SWEER. EERWS. Shh Constanze. Hickman line on the 6th! Tube that goes straight into my heart and dangle out my chest, Like an extra fashion accessory. Scoooore.

Anyway, I am incredibly near my station. I must leave, and complete my journey home and sort out my postal affairs, as I am the bitch of the postal service.

xXXx