(Original title – The Letters From No One) So, it’s been an eventful few days after four days of non-eventfulness. After four days of no appointments, I met with my oncologist on Monday, and while waiting for that appointment to begin, found out that I was suddenly homeless because of the ongoing mould argument between the owner upstairs and my landlord and us. Shit. We managed to scramble into a place and got moved in today which is all hunky…
(Original title – The Vanishing Glass) My particular cancer, Inflammatory Breast Cancer (“IBC”), is rare and it’s nasty. So I’m having four of the five options of treatment available to me: Chemo for 16 – 24 weeks (depending if I’m well enough to do a dose-dense treatment) Surgery (probs a double mastectomy – whoooo free reduction and tummy tuck to rebuild!) Radiation (and still no superpowers) Hormone Therapy (because a 33 year old needs to experience what menopause is like…
(Original title – The Boy Who Lived) So this will come as a shock to some of you – I have a mutant tit. Righty decided it wasn’t happy with its bigger mate Lefty having all the glory, so decided to get its grow on, and it figured “Hey, what’s the best way I can fuck with this bitch’s life plans? Let’s grow cancer!” The only apology I will offer for the next twelve months is this: I’m sorry you…
Look, let’s be real. Seeing or feeling something weird and then having that panicking thought of “holy shit, what if it’s cancer” goes through everyone’s mind at some point or another. Don’t lie, you know you’ve done it. But what happens if your cancer isn’t a lumpy kind of cancer? What if it’s inflammatory? What if the first symptoms that appear are so subtle that you might miss them if you’re not working from home, showering at 10am and dancing…