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Abstract

ly halfway through nuking with chemo and radiotherapy.</p><p id="6c04">I was due to have my first course of intravenous chemotherapy this week with the aim of further shrinking it and preparing it for a surgeon to cut me a new arsehole in 3 months' time.</p><p id="63af">And now those little bastard lines are back.</p><p id="c3f9">I went into the hospital for a covid swab and blood tests this Monday and received a call back about 3 hours later.</p><p id="6a34">I’ve tested positive and my treatment can’t recommence yet. Tough titties, tumour boy.</p><p id="2ef0">So here I am, waiting again. Skint, and sat on an inflatable pillow while the pincer movement of cancer and coronavirus lay waste to my bumhole and my bank balance.</p><p id="adb4">Feeling absolutely fine, desperate to start a treatment that will inevitably make me feel like warmed-up cat vomit.</p><p id="7a95">It’s a massive leap of faith, to be told you’re ill when you don’t feel it. To sit waiting around for something that is going to be objectively awful. In a couple of weeks, someone I don’t know will stab a hole in my arm and pump chemicals into my body that will make me vomit, exhausted, and shit like a running tap. And I am just meant to take their word for it that this is the right thing to do.</p><p id="8f22">Similarly, I just spent a full week sitting at home chasing around a toddler who I am often not very keen on, losing around 2 months' worth of mortgage payments and delaying a life-saving treatment. Just because a cheap piece of plastic instructed me to do so after I dripped some snot onto it.</p><p id="f2f3">Leaps of faith are exhausting. I do it because a chap in a white coat with an expensive education tells me

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to but the mind can’t help but wonder.</p><p id="c3d8">Because cancer is like organised religion, too; you get your anus repeatedly poked by someone you’re supposed to trust and, if you allow yourself to think too much, it’s very tempting to become an atheist.</p><p id="ff65"><i>Hello there, thanks for stopping by.</i></p><p id="8bef"><i>If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read here, and even if you haven’t, give me a follow and have a flick through my other stories to see if anything else there tickles your fancy.</i></p><div id="42d8" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/timmy-and-me-2d4decded24d"> <div> <div> <h2>Timmy and Me</h2> <div><h3>A heart-warming tale of one man’s budding friendship with his tumour.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*ITAW2dpFg4dFPZ0j)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="5755" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/if-she-doesnt-sleep-soon-i-will-headbutt-her-647c2453e3c3"> <div> <div> <h2>If She Doesn’t Sleep Soon I Will Headbutt Her</h2> <div><h3>I might not actually headbutt my baby</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*f7j2OUt-EO8dCSZfL2cviQ.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Timmy and Me — The Bloody Long Wait

How to be Sick without being Sick

Covid — I’m not a fan.

Throughout the whole of this mess over the last God knows how long I’ve been largely untouched by it. No positive tests, no deaths in the family, I don’t bake banana bread and I’m more than happy to stay in my house avoiding people.

Covid is basically like organised religion; it sounds very important, but I’ve got other things to do.

Except now it’s bloody got me.

My partner was unwell a couple of weeks ago and tested positive, and days later I had the same result. No symptoms, no feelings at all of any illness, just two lines on a snotty test kit that cost us around about a thousand pounds in lost wages.

My partner was laid up in bed for about a week but I was feeling fine. No cough, no breathing difficulties, no nothing really. So I took a few days off work to go on nurse duty, compassionately caring for my beautiful lady and my twat of a baby.

Then, the two little lines disappeared and I went back about my business, back to work and back to the school run, back to doing the weekly shopping, and back to sneezing in strangers’ faces whenever and wherever I choose.

The complication, though, is that deep in my narrowest nook and my most uncomfortable cranny, sits Timmy the tumour. Colorectal cancer was discovered on New Year’s Eve and I am currently halfway through nuking with chemo and radiotherapy.

I was due to have my first course of intravenous chemotherapy this week with the aim of further shrinking it and preparing it for a surgeon to cut me a new arsehole in 3 months' time.

And now those little bastard lines are back.

I went into the hospital for a covid swab and blood tests this Monday and received a call back about 3 hours later.

I’ve tested positive and my treatment can’t recommence yet. Tough titties, tumour boy.

So here I am, waiting again. Skint, and sat on an inflatable pillow while the pincer movement of cancer and coronavirus lay waste to my bumhole and my bank balance.

Feeling absolutely fine, desperate to start a treatment that will inevitably make me feel like warmed-up cat vomit.

It’s a massive leap of faith, to be told you’re ill when you don’t feel it. To sit waiting around for something that is going to be objectively awful. In a couple of weeks, someone I don’t know will stab a hole in my arm and pump chemicals into my body that will make me vomit, exhausted, and shit like a running tap. And I am just meant to take their word for it that this is the right thing to do.

Similarly, I just spent a full week sitting at home chasing around a toddler who I am often not very keen on, losing around 2 months' worth of mortgage payments and delaying a life-saving treatment. Just because a cheap piece of plastic instructed me to do so after I dripped some snot onto it.

Leaps of faith are exhausting. I do it because a chap in a white coat with an expensive education tells me to but the mind can’t help but wonder.

Because cancer is like organised religion, too; you get your anus repeatedly poked by someone you’re supposed to trust and, if you allow yourself to think too much, it’s very tempting to become an atheist.

Hello there, thanks for stopping by.

If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read here, and even if you haven’t, give me a follow and have a flick through my other stories to see if anything else there tickles your fancy.