The cancer Diaries – 22,4,16

I’ve been neglecting the diaries lately. It’s been an awfy Month and most of it has been spent on letting things get me down. The beginning of the Month started badly and just disintegrated after that. I was told that if this new chemo doesn’t work I’m for the great Bing in the sky, then I got my double fracture and then I couldn’t get chemo because my blood wasn’t right. To top it all I’ve fallen quite spectacularly off the ‘nae joints’ wagon. I think that’s the main reason for the shite Month – I’d gone Six Months without a fag and felt great. No more wacky Baccy after tonight, though – or at least until the end of this chemo when, whatever the outcome, I will treat myself to a cheeky wee joint. I’m obviously hoping for a positive outcome which would mean I can get the stem cell treatment, which will save me – that’s worth a joint. If, however I’m told that they can’t save me, well, I think that’s worth a wee joint, too. The Doctor told me that they’d been surprised at how my Heart was after the ECG thing. It was better than anticipated and stopping the fags must’ve been behind that – if that isn’t incentive to stop I don’t know what is. I get more chemo next week, blood count permitting and it’ll be back to the hair falling out and feeling shite. Next Month sees Bingstock and the artist formerly known as alive [ Prince ] definitely won’t be there because he’s deid.

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