Thrills, pills and a headscarf

These last few weeks I’ve been waging mental war against the demons that like to creep in from time to time. This presents itself in many ways, a lot of which can go unnoticed by others and rely on me to take action. I can struggle with motivation, have trouble keeping a positive frame of mind, get annoyed by small things and struggle with eating – either not wanting food or not eating well. I have the ability to acknowledge that there are many reasons this could happen. I’m still waiting to find out what will happen with treatment (almost two months of not knowing); I’ve been very sick with a virus which knocked my more fragile body about and this has stopped me doing things I would like to have done. Not being active or social are immediate red flags for diminishing mental health for me and I know I need to work harder when these things are limited. I often get comments about how happy I am. How I almost always have a smile and am so positive about such an unfortunate illne...

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 ...