Thrills, pills and a headscarf

On Saturday I posted a photo of me smiling in the hospital. Saturday was one of the first times I felt like smiling while I was in the hospital. Things haven't really improved but they're semi-controlled and I had decided I just needed to have a good day. I've actually had a really rubbish month. While the world has been falling apart with the Covid-19 threat, my world has been doing it's usual kind of cancer related falling apart as well. I attempted to go into isolation long before we were told to as a country. I'm already high risk thanks to a lung tumour and the medication I'm on so I intended to hide myself away in my safe little house and we introduced a whole lot of extra levels of germ control to stop anything getting in. Unfortunately my body had ideas other than isolation. My amazing drug that has been keeping me healthy (based on my low standards) appears to have made my immune system a little confused and it is now attacking my liver. That'...

A couple of weeks ago I hit a point I had hoped I wouldn't. I've had a lot of treatment since diagnosis and we've always, in the background, known immunotherapy exists. We've chatted about it a few times and always found some other option. It has remained the card up the sleeve and that's how I liked it. Until two weeks ago. That's when the world went for another spin and a spectacular crash for me. I went for my scan result and was informed the chemotherapy isn't working. Sure, the two smaller spots are shrinking but the big bugger (Stephen Shitbag) who's wedged himself at the back of my liver and is trying to buddy up with blood vessels and stuff, he's not having any of this chemo crap. While the rest of my body is busy falling apart from it, he's thriving and has grown two centimetres since the last scan. The shitbag. Well, we can't be having that. Me getting sicker from something that's supposed to be killing him. So chemo is off ...