Four years ago, when I had dropped 50% of my body mass in 3 months (I almost got fired from the fat bastard club for that stunt), when the doctors were calculating my “due to assume room temperature” time in hours rather than days, when I was full of drips and drugs and laughing at bedroom doors, I could not even have imagined what I would be doing today.
As I now only need the bathroom about 30 times a day, I thought it would be a super idea to take an 800 mile drive to the south of France to my brother’s house for a holiday. The clothes, mobile pharmacy and flip flops are packed so at 4am tomorrow, off we will toddle into the wild black yonder. The rear tyres on the Volvo have been pumped up to take the weight of pills and the other me who takes care of pains, is under strict instructions (nearly said on pain of death, but best not to tempt providence too much) not to show his ugly mug for the next three weeks. Rita and I are as excited as chimps, Kim is due to turn into Beelzebub shortly and Tom is in his normal laid back coma. We are nearly ready to go.
Last night, I began wondering if I would be doing all this, if I had taken the whole cancer, pain and being dead thing seriously and after careful consideration, I came to the conclusion that the being dead thing would have got the upper hand if I had allowed it to banish humour. I think dead must be allergic to laughter.
Encouragement? With a bit of luck, someone who is currently having cameras inserted into places that only their mummy should know about, or is being nuked or having noxious chemicals pumped into them, might think that there’s a possibility that one day, they might be able to drive 800 miles. This might not seem an attractive proposition for the un sick but when you’re feeling crap, believe me it’s inspirational. All things are possible – ok, maybe not probable, but I still do the lottery.
So, apart from maybe the occasional photo of me looking like a badly patched Michelin Man from hell, I will be A.W.O.L. from Cancergiggles until 23rd August. The hit counter has just gone over 200,000; the book should be ready for release on my return and who knows, I might find something else to write about in the Pyrenees.
Read More..As I now only need the bathroom about 30 times a day, I thought it would be a super idea to take an 800 mile drive to the south of France to my brother’s house for a holiday. The clothes, mobile pharmacy and flip flops are packed so at 4am tomorrow, off we will toddle into the wild black yonder. The rear tyres on the Volvo have been pumped up to take the weight of pills and the other me who takes care of pains, is under strict instructions (nearly said on pain of death, but best not to tempt providence too much) not to show his ugly mug for the next three weeks. Rita and I are as excited as chimps, Kim is due to turn into Beelzebub shortly and Tom is in his normal laid back coma. We are nearly ready to go.
Last night, I began wondering if I would be doing all this, if I had taken the whole cancer, pain and being dead thing seriously and after careful consideration, I came to the conclusion that the being dead thing would have got the upper hand if I had allowed it to banish humour. I think dead must be allergic to laughter.
Encouragement? With a bit of luck, someone who is currently having cameras inserted into places that only their mummy should know about, or is being nuked or having noxious chemicals pumped into them, might think that there’s a possibility that one day, they might be able to drive 800 miles. This might not seem an attractive proposition for the un sick but when you’re feeling crap, believe me it’s inspirational. All things are possible – ok, maybe not probable, but I still do the lottery.
So, apart from maybe the occasional photo of me looking like a badly patched Michelin Man from hell, I will be A.W.O.L. from Cancergiggles until 23rd August. The hit counter has just gone over 200,000; the book should be ready for release on my return and who knows, I might find something else to write about in the Pyrenees.