Arghy qwerty scmerkendrerggg.
This is one of those days where my mental scales are on tipping point. Too much butter*. That's a lie, TOO MUCH FLOUR, that's it. Too many sultanas. Sultanas are sucky. You know, how yes it's shit I've got cancer one one hand but on the other I'm getting a fucking massive atlas for my birthday so everything's worked out ok in the end really. The bad stuff balances with the good stuff to make a Jollystanze. Well, imagine some scales, nicely balanced with a kilo of best steak on one side (representing, of course, the joyful things in life, eg steak and mayo sandwiches), and a kilo of quorn on the other (representing the terrible things, eg cancer), then imagine a jar of marmite being dropped on the quorny side and making me distinctly grumpy. That's right folks, distinctly grumpy. FOR GOD'S SAKE YOU HAVE CANCER AND THE BEST YOU CAN MANAGE IS DISTINCTLY GRUMPY. Argh.
I think it's the length of time I've been ill for... It seems like my youth is flying by me like the sparrows out my Gran's window. This will probably become more apparent when I spend my 20th birthday in hospital. I was just 18 when I was diagnosed. How time flys, eh? Oh, how time flys...
Had I have not had cancer I'd've been graduating with a degree in physics Oxford University in just a year, age 20. Impressive, eh? Well, that wasn't to be. Now I have to find a whole new way to be impressive. I don't know, I've grown so used to being ill I can't imagine a world where I'm not. Where I can walk around for more than a couple of minutes, eat normal meals, stay awake... Oh my god, imagine being able to stay awake all day, alive and awake, eyes open, in the sunlight, no squinting, no dozing, no pain...
It's kind of a life sentence, this illness. Something like that. I'll forever be plagued by what it's done to my body. I'll never be the way I was before. And with a 50% chance of the leukaemia recurring, and each subsequent treatment for it having a lower and lower success rate as I get older... There's technology, and all that jazz, I guess. It doesn't depress me, it just irritates me. Then again, I'd still be that silly 18 year old girl had I have not got this... What's physically debilitated me has only made me better in the head. They can take my body but they can't take my mind. HE HE HE. That was long gone anyway. Maybe I should rephrase. They can take my mind, but they can't take my FRENCH FANCIES. And smile. That would probably have been more philosophical. I am not a philosopher. I don't know big enough words, or have any grammar in me head. The radiotherapy ate it.
So, to summarise, I think what I am trying to say is that leukaemia is a long, arduous, at times fun, rather painful, bumpy and somewhat interesting road. The problem is, I am no longer sure of where that road will lead. I don't know how long the road is, the destination, maybe there will be a fork in the road, or a roundabout. ROUNDABOUTS FUCKING RULE. Although, if there is one, I had better try and not go around it, I don't fancy going the wrong way down this potholey old path. Quit with the shit analogy, already. We have already established you're not Keats.
And it's something else to do with I get a bit stupidly angry when tiny little bad things happen to me. I get all stroppy when I hit my knee or they've sold out of stuffed peppers or the cat has an infection and I'm all like "CHUFFING WANK SHIT I'VE GOT CANCER IS MY LUCK NOT BAD ENOUGH WITHOUT FALLING OVER MY COPY OF THE ECONOMIST FUCKING LAMINATED PIECE OF SHIT TWAT TWAT TWAT". Etc. I can cope with one of those moments a day, but today had about 15 and I was not impressed.
Ack. I am too moany. I need to stop this moaning. I know the perfect cure- expensive bluebelly bubbley super deep and hot bath to sooth all that hurts and excessive amounts of pick 'n' mix. I will be fine in a quarter of an hour. I feel silly after moods like this, I mean, I don't really have anything to complain about. I've said it before, and I will again. I have everything you could want in life, happiness, friends, physics, a book collection 500 strong and a massive bag of fizzy cola bottles. And to live a life of such luxury, I must ache. That is how the world works.
Bathtime for me. Sexy image for you there. Try to not get too excited.
Laterz.
xXXxXXx
*not possible.
P.s I do read my comments. There are NEVER enough. Like The Cure Said.
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Distressed and compressed....
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Basically, you moan, but you got it pretty sweet because you got loads of people who brought you presents and food and stuff.
ReplyDeleteLOVE AND HUGS, ADAM
Constanze. I just ran over a pigeon. I thought it would fly away in time but it didn't and I looked back to see this horrible burst of feathers floating back down to the road. I am feeling traumatised. I thought reading your post would cheer me up or put my problems in perspective, but for some reason I can't get rid of the pigeon guilt. PLEASE RID ME OF THE GUILT.
ReplyDeleteGuilty Nicky
PS - I don't like roundabouts and I love Marmite. I thought you should know now so it doesn't come as a surprise in the future and threaten our friendship.
Oh and LOVE AND HUGS. Adam made me feel more guilty by not adding these. Damn you Adam. Who is Adam? WHY AM I SO GUILTY?
ReplyDeleteNicky (again)
What are your thoughts upon Vegemite?
ReplyDeleteVegemite, like marmite, is an evil substance that was originally created for filling in pot holes ( I'm not lying, honest ). Either substance, you heat it up, it runs like treacle, it pours, it's gloopy. For those with a more scientific background, it's coefficient of viscosity is quite high. Then you leave it to set, and set it does, and it is a *nightmare* to remove from whatever it was on. Why on earth anyone with any sense would eat it is beyond me.
ReplyDeleteIt sounds, my dear, like you're just having one of those days, like any other (ab)normal person. As your blog suggests sweets, a good book and a hot bath are amazing in these circumstances. It gets you down because of the number that occur in a short space of time.
The road analogy really doesn't work. How boring would life be if you already knew the destination of your 'road' and how long it was? It's what makes life interesting, what's round the next bend? Will I hit a road block? Roundabouts are annoying, it's the whole giving way thing, or not being able to do them faster than 40, and people not understanding them, and being in the wrong lane. Stupid things, especially the small ones that seem to have no purpose at all...
I think, when this is over, what will make you 'special' to anyone that meets you will be the stories you can tell because of this illness. How you can point out, "look, throughout it all I was writing this blog, and 1000's of people read it, and not once did I fall into a pit (pothole?) of self-loathing." As for graduating from Oxford, it's not going anywhere, you still will, and it will still look impressive. Not everybody can be a genius. ;)
Although bathtime is an amazing image if you're so inclined to imagine it, a recent picture of you would be better - please?
Chin up, stiff upper lip, look to the distance, every cloud, and I can't think of any more clichés. Nor can I remember if it needs an apostrophe.
Dom