The constant darkness gets to me. It is unrelenting. Every morning when I open my eyes, instead of light rushing in and showing me a beautiful new day is out there waiting for me to discover, my poor sleep-infused brain is hit with the crushing realisation that opening my eyes changes nothing. I have no idea if it’s morning and time to get up, or if I’ve woken yet again in the middle of the night. Thankfully I have a little robot friend who helps me with the time conundrum – my talky clock, which is basically just a big button that loudly announces the time when I push it. Brilliant invention ..read more

The RT (radiotherapy) had made my mouth so sore. It felt so fragile, and anything I ate with the tiniest bit of heat, whether spicy or physical warmth, caused me unreasonable amounts of pain. Even balsamic vinegar or lemon juice was unbearable. Like such things hurt on a cut, it was as if my whole mouth was covered in cuts. And I suppose it kind of was. The radiotherapy had really built up and was fusing my jaws together too. Before I started, I could just fit one finger between top and bottom teeth, but as radio went on, that became increasingly less and I was starting to wake up in the morni ..read more

And so RT (radiotherapy) was officially underway. The vibe in the RT basement continued to be one of joy and friendship. And despite all the extra appointments they kept wanting to throw at me, it was all going quite well, really. The mask kept fitting fine, and I was managing to survive the daily sessions with the help of my lovely Zappers, and Ma, Clarence, Lorazepam, The Beatles, and the hundreds of extra little coping strategies I have honed over the years, and employ if needed (inc. breathwork, reciting Robert Frost or Banjo Patterson poems, rubbing the tips of my thumb and first finger t ..read more

On day two of RT (radiotherapy), the door on a cupboard in the basement of UCLH got stuck. I know, I know, I wondered why I should care either. But apparently without the cupboard being accessible, I couldn’t have my RT. They tried and they tried to open it, they went and got the boss and she tried, the boss’s boss tried, but the cupboard only laughed. Apparently the cupboard was full of potions and elixirs and various things that might be needed in case something terrible happened while I was on the table. Only a few of us were risky enough to require the mysterious cupboard. After all that b ..read more

It took me a couple of days to really recover from the mask fitting debacle, and the thought of my impending radiotherapy was filling me with something bordering on dread. But the day was set – I was to start on the 15th of Feb, and it would happen every weekday for 6 weeks straight, 30 sessions in total. Nothing I hadn’t done before, but having to do it all while completely blind, kind of made it a brand new experience. So while I was very keen to get started, I would be lying if I said there weren’t also some feelings of trepidation there. We arrived for my first session on a Thursday, at ab ..read more

 On Christmas night just passed, somewhere in the vicinity of 3 am, I woke up with a huge hunk of plastic lying next to me on the pillow. ‘Ah’ I thought. ‘Well, that’s that then. The thing I’ve been fearing and doing anything I can to avoid, has just happened. Well… I guess I’ll deal with it in the morning. Let me take you back a little, as this story really starts back in the November of 2020. I had finally made it home to London, after being stranded in Australia for 10 months over Covid. A scan within three days of my return confirmed the cancer was back and this time I would lose my r ..read more

After flirting with my old friend Neutropenic Sepsis over New Year’s, and being so close to having to go into A&E, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be so lucky the next cycle. The trauma of my previous incarceration still feeling too raw, too fresh, to even consider the possibility for a moment. But as my parents and I filed in to my Oncologist’s clinic room on Monday, 8th January, ready for my pre-chemo chat, I had no idea that was the least of my problems… He asked me how I was, how I had been. I told him about my nearly-temperature, how I’d been struggling a bit with the exhaustion, my frag ..read more

I don’t know if I had a latent desire to write a novel one day. Was it something I secretly wished for but never thought I could actually do? I placed in, and  even won, some poetry and short story competitions at uni. But I was studying Science. My life was taken over by field research and a 50,000 word thesis on the role of ants in ecosystem regeneration in an Endangered Ecological Community that was being practically decimated thanks to mining. Sometimes I wonder what the fate of those ants is now… Well, the ones that survived my pitfall traps that killed them by the hundreds, that is ..read more

So, chemo. I was already one cycle down when I first set foot back in the cancer centre for my first time being a day patient. Seasoned professional turned rookie once again.  I had waved my hand around dismissively each time someone had asked how I felt about starting chemo again (for my third new regime). ‘Oh, it’ll be nothing darling. Nothing I haven’t done before, and this one will be nothing compared with the devil Cisplatin I had the first time around.’ But like it often is in this cancer-filled life I find myself in, my ‘I’m sure it’ll all be fine’ attitude turns out to not quite b ..read more

So I last left you falling asleep with Clarence and me in our own beautiful bed, after we escaped from the dreaded hospital. It was the end of November and the days were getting shorter and I was getting ready to spend my birthday, for a third time, in the midst of cancer progression and chemo. But It was a relief to be back in my little haven of a flat, and although I could no longer enjoy the beautiful views out of my windows, I could certainly appreciate the feeling of sun on my face as it streamed into my living room. My flat seems to be able to find any hints of sun that might be out ther ..read more