I keep slipping more and more with my blog posting. I guess I'm just a bad person.
Well, I've been back into work this week. It's both good and weird. Good in that it feels like life is returning to normal and weird in that I'm not stuck on my own with no one to talk to appart from my stupid cat (sorry animal lovers, but he is stupid. I also caught him peeing on the furniture in the lounge, which didn't help his reputation [got him kicked out in fact])

Yesterday, I had to go in for a blood test at Wexham Park hospital. As usual there was a massive queue but as my test is for chemo related stuff I get fast tracked. Go fast track. So, I go in, hand over my blood form and a couple of minutes later I get called in. As I walk to the blood letters lair, I can feel the eyes of all the people who have been waiting hours burning pure hatred towards me.
It was a different vampiric blood letter today. A young lad, who was trying to talk in a very professional manner (must have just finished his training). He spiked me with the needle and all was good, as blood started coming out, but as seems to be happening more and more often, it just stopped (anyone know why?). A few years ago I got into fencing (with the sword, not the big wooden things that surround gardens). The blood letter reminded me of a fencing drill. With the needle still under the skin he did a classic disengage, thrust and parry. The blood started running again (thankfully. The thrusts were a tad unpleasant). It then stopped again and he withdrew most of the needle, shifted it a bit and then thrust it back in and in and in, I thought it was going to emerge popping out near my shoulder. I thought of gagging but the blood started flowing again and he finished filling up the little blood pots. I bid them fairwell and exited, ignoring the boos from the other people still waiting.
Being a bit of an idiot, I agreed to meet my mate Adam for a couple of beers. I felt really tired, my ankles had swollen (it's a good look) and my legs and back were giving me some grief (not sure why). I walked in and was ready to give up, when the pub came into view. I forgot to mention, I hadnt eaten all day because my tum was playing up too (any part of me still working normally?), so thought I'd better eat something. A few nutritious chips put out that fire! I struggled through 2 pints. I had previously built up a pretty sturdy drinking reputation and alcohol tolerance over the previous 20 years and now I was reduced to this. Oh woe is me!

Two days good, one day bad

How bizarre this chemo thing is. After getting loaded up on Friday and then just wanting to sleep, Saturday and Sunday weren't bad. I was up and about at a decent hour, feeling not bad. I went to my wife's Granddad's birthday celebration and was sorely tempted to have a beer (although I was well behaved and didn't, for the sake of my overworked liver and kidney (although next week is another thing entirely)), so I must have been feeling pretty good.
Then, I wake up this morning and all I want to do is go back to sleep (nothing really new there, except I wanted to go back to sleep 'cus I was feeling rubbish). My head was banging and my energy was through the floor. Curiouser and curiouser, said I.
Anyway, I've dragged myself out of my pit and am sat downstairs, with the glorious weather beaming in through the windows and lightening my mood.