Coats, Knickers and Elections...

Yo folksies!

I think my couple of weeks can be summed up by this charming facebook status- "For those of you who think I'm attractive or glamorous- My nose is running so much it keeps dribbling down my face and into my mouth, making me eat snot. I'm so bloated with gas I look pregnant. I have a patch of red raw skin where it all fell off near my boob. And I'm sweating like a pig in muck doing a jog in a sauna. Sexy leukaemia ftw!"... Although the sweating has been replaced by coughing and I've run out of skin to fall off, I've still had many an adventure to tell you about. As you're about to see, the fun NEVER ENDS with blood disorders.

The highlight of all this was for once not flashing everyone. For those of you who know me, you will know that dignity has never been my strong point. I was innocently browsing some vintage clothes when I went for a quick pork scratching of my bum. It was then to my horror that I realised my skirt was around 15cm lower than it should be, showing a lot of Pink Polish Pant and scraggy bottom. Luckily, it appears there is a god (bacon) and it was cold so I had my big black coat on, so I hadn't actually been flashing all the tourists and crack addicts of Matlock. It was just a stark (naked) reminder of how matchstickily thin I am, and how clothes are slowly stopping being an option for Cancerstanze...

I also, most suprisingly, went to hospital. Damn eagle-eyed Yusef spotted a small graft-versus-host rash on my hand, so I have to go back sooner than I was crossing my fingers and socks and eyeballs for. The peg nurse (The woman in charge of shoving tubes into stomachs) came to see me to try and convince me to get the peg done. NO SUCH LUCK DUCK. Not after what happened with my hickman line. Plus, they seem to be trying to put it in 6 months too late... It would have been great to gave this back when the whole eating thing started, but now?!?

My time on the day ward was spent sandwiched between Albert the deaf man and the slightly incomprehensible yet very chatty Irish man. It was very very busy, all 15 seats were taken, one by 19 year old Constanze and the rest by people starting at age 50 going up to nearly 100. Hooray for youth. In no way do I stick out like a sore thumb.... Shit, I do that anyway. I am the anticamouflage.

Got told off by a pensioner. Always a Sleepystanze, I had intentions of using many chairs to make a bed in the day ward. The old guy caught me puffing and panting and half killing myself carrying chairs around and started saying "Ooooo, god, be careful, don't hurt yourself, silly girl". I ran away claiming I was growing my supreme muscles. Needless to say, I ignored safety and sensibleness, and my fine bed was complete, much to the envy of the lady two chairs down.

Now the planes and volcanic ash saga is nearly over I realise just how lucky I am. Had that had all happened a week before, my donor's lymphocytes wouldn't have got here, leaving me to get worse and worse and more and more cancery. I know people have now died because they'd had all the chemo ready for transplants, then couldn't have their cells because they were stuck in some country with no way to get them to them. The worst was a young girl whose only match was in Canada. I think she's dead now. Poor you, people who got stuck on holiday.

And, to the inevitable. The election. I know you're all wondering what that genius Constanze, one time attempted assassinator of the queen thinks about all this. Who did she vote for? Why? How? From the age of 12 I've always said I'd vote Lib Dem. In the last elections I even made my mum vote for them by leaving hundreds of notes all over the house. I voted Lib Dem, but not really through any passion or desire... Clegg went to Westminster for god's sake, that's more expensive than Eton! Would any of them really be there without their priviledged backgrounds? I mean, Brown's not like that, but he's got the charisma of my sweaty sock. Oh yes, let's trust our country to the dirty laundry. Best of a horrendous bunch, I went for. I've pretty much lost faith in the Communist party who I used to rave about, all they do is moan about the Middle East and sit in buildings. Had the Monster Raving Looneys been standing in my constituency they would have had my vote easily. A wasted vote, I hear you say. Well, not in my opinion. Westminster needs some madness.

Voting nearly killed me. I didn't do a postal vote- I wanted to do it properly. My legs were not having it- pain pain pain and general failure- I nearly knocked the voting box over falling over whilst doing my cross. I wonder if that would have unvalidated my vote, destroying the polling station. I also nearly had a heart attack when the Votey Man pronounced my name perfectly first time... It's shameful all the people who didn't vote- if Cancerstanze with no legs or lungs can do it, then anyone can.

I would also like to quash rumors that I had anything to do with Farage's plane crash. He's a twat twat twat, but I wouldn't kill him. Besides, I was busy throwing nails at Nick Griffin.

And that, my friends, is all for today. I shall come to Oxford soon. I now have many parcels and postcards to post, to Malaysia and Indonesia and the Netherlands and all of the world. And a letter to write to everyone's favorite, Jane 'Sexiestthingontheplanet' Hogan.

P.s Nebuliser on Wednesday. Must find a way to get out of it. Who wants to help me steal all the Oxygen from the Royal Hallamshire?

xXXxXXx