Pain in the arse : The Cancer Diaries pt 1

I haven't blogged for a while.  Mainly because there's a lot gone on this year, things like Covid still looming large in everyone's life, my house getting subsidence, the sad passing of a number of family and friends and what was the other thing? Oh yeah, I was diagnosed with Stage 3 Bowel Cancer in August.

Having avoided going to the doctors (because I'm a working class man of a certain generation and that's what we do really - hey ho!) despite my bowel habits changing dramatically over the year and convincing myself that really I only had IBS and I should keep a food diary or something 'cos that's all the doc would want to know I was persuaded to make an appointment by my wife. So I grudgingly did.

Grudgingly because I think deep down I knew what was coming and I was frightened by it.

From that initial appointment in July things moved quickly. Very fucking quickly. 

I've read in the national news various stories about cancer care being a 'postcode lottery' and that there are referrals being backed up all over the country to the point where people are dying because they're not getting the treatments needed and it makes me shudder and thank my lucky stars every time I read about it. From that initial phone appointment with my GP (who was a locum!) only eighteen weeks ago I have been tested, scanned, consulted, had a course of radiotherapy and have started chemo and thank my lucky stars every day that I was somehow in the 'right' postcode.

I'm going to make an attempt to document some of my experiences (expect swearing, flippancy and the odd pic of me looking positively gorgeous) and I don't even care if none of you read them - the main thing is I'm still in the fucking game!

Rivs