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Salut mes amies. It's your roving reporter here again speaking to you from my little prison cell at Cancerology Central.
Friday (yesterday) started well enough. A really good sleep of 6 hours courtesy of a Doc Martin sleeping pill. Thanks doc for remembering. No wind and no poop though. All quiet in that zone. I wasn't able to go for my normal long walk at 7.30am in case I shat in a corridor somewhere and no-one could come and inspect it. So, I walked many times around my little cell block until I was giddy. My cell is next door to the Family Lounge. A lovely room with big comfy sofa suite, large screen tv, toys, table and chairs for 4 to eat at, sink, kettle, fridge, microwave, coffee and stuff, shelves of books. You know the sort of thing. No-one is ever in there so yesterday I decided to have a proper snout inside. I sat on the sofa and thought, Ooooo, nice. Better than my hard bed. Turned on the t.v. and thought, Ooooooo, French, get off. Turned to the bookcase and of course nothing in English and my mush brain can't cope with too much French right now. Then went rifling through the magazines on the enormous white coffee table and guess what??? I came upon a copy of Good Housekeeping, July 2016, £4.20 with Joanna Lovely on the front cover mocking me because she's 70 and looks like that and I'm nearly 70 and look like shit. I had struck gold. I have to say that I stole it away and read it from cover to cover and I don't feel ashamed. The problem came as I reached the back section. It is all about food!! There were recipes and pictures - lots of pictures. Millionaire's shortbread parfait; Fish and chip fishcakes (what the?); Ginger beer chicken; Strawberry scone cake, to name but a few. It was torture. I confess that I didn't take the magazine back. I couldn't. I ate it.
Some time during the p.m. I went to X-ray. The radioactive man remembered me. Am I so unforgettable then? I was only there a couple of days ago, I know, but surely he sees dozens of people. Maybe he remembers me for being the one who vanished after my last X-ray and sent the porter into a frenzy. This time I walked with the porter and told him I would make my own way back. Nice Mr Radioactive let me look at my photo. He said, look at this big thing, but I told him to put it away as I wasn't in the mood. No, he said, here. There it was, top left of my colon, the offender. The one which started bottom right last week. It looked like a flipping giant rock stuck there. Yuk. It had travelled some distance, but was nowhere near the exit yet. Below were various little blobs. Poor Connard had disintegrated into many fragments, poor love. So, this new interloper is known as Rocky - of course. Did you think I would make up something crazy? Call it Dwayn or something?
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly enough until I tried to log into the hospital wifi. Time's up my dear, says the robot woman. EEEK!!! The now definite ex-husband had not renewed my wifi/telephone - again. He wasn't due a visit as I'd said he should go to art group and enjoy the day off. I check the time. 4 minutes until the café closes and doesn't open again until Monday - and that's where we buy the credit. It must have been the sheer desperation of being without communication for another weekend, but I literally ran all the way to the cafe two floors up (stopped running whilst I was in the lift as that would have been silly). My drippy friend tried to trip me up once or twice but I charged forth. Thank goodness for the Eporatio. Lance Armstrong was right to take it. Thank goodness too that the hospital closes at 5 so there were no patients around and only a few straggly members of staff clearing off for the weekend. I managed to get to the café as she was cashing up but she saw the anger in my eyes and feared for her hair follicles so I was able to buy some credit.
Then, once returned to the cell and recovering, in walks the man I used to be married to. Bold as you like. What? Turns out he was at art and decided to come to see me afterwards. Ah, bless. Once I explained what he'd done - again - he said he forgot and LAUGHED. He's in a nice ward now. They say he'll make a full recovery, once he can move something.
Saturday (today). 5 hours sleep. Not bad, but it could have been better. The Doc Martin pill got me off ok. It looked a miserable day. My window was pale and the sky was the same colour as the frosted glass. Showered and stood for ages letting the hot water soothe my swollen belly. Said a few choice words to Rocky and gave him a good massage. He rewarded me with a gurgle and pain. More jollop arrived with questions about my bowel during the night. Nothing to tell. Did I want morphine for the pain? No, I don't thanks. They must have over ordered. Went for my walk, out of the hospital, around the car park, up in the lift, down in the lift, up and down the empty corridors, up and down. Past all the empty clinics. Past all the empty waiting rooms. Past the numerous machines glowing with goodies and chocolate and coffee and mocking me with their wide mouths where they spill out the goods that I can't have. I felt in my dressing gown pocket and found 2 euros. It was the change from the wifi credit I had paid for yesterday. I had 2 euros! I had the means to buy something. No-one to see me, no-one to tell. I bought a bottle of flavoured water. Wow. So reckless. I even got some change. I hid it in my dressing gown and slinked back to my cell. No-one saw me go in. I read the ingredients. Oh dear. Of course water but other things like fruit concentrates, acids, acacia gum (as if I need gum), sugar (obligatory), colourings and paprika - yes paprika. It's a bloody tropical flavoured water for goodness sake. What's paprika doing in it? Ask nursey. She hummed and looked and thought and looked again and then said, OK. so I've adopted her.
Since then one's bowels have had 3 movements of the liquid kind. One passed inspection. The last of Connard, bless him, is on his way westward to the Atlantic, or wherever it is they go.
The sun came out and the sky turned blue. I watched a Sarah Millican show on the laptop and thought of Lily-Anne. Hubby had put lots of films and tv shows on a memory stick for me as I don't do French tv. (The Curse of the Turd was a bit grim and it kept me awake the other night - or was that just a morphine moment?). Lunch came - and went - right past my door. The smell, however, snuck under the door and almost drove me insane. I sucked on my dressing gown cord for comfort. Now we wait for Rocky. He is now mid way down the home straight and really making his presence known. He intends to come into this world with as much pain and anguish as he can muster. But I don't give a shit - nor a flying fart - because the minute he's out I'm stuffing myself stupid with hospital broth. So nerrrrr.
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Written by
Kryssy
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We are sucked into your cell, squealing with delight and will lovingly escort you right to the big (but hopefully not too painful delivery. Bring it on Madame ... xxx
Kryssy, that was hilarious - I don’t know which was the best bit....the Good Housekeeping mag, the radioactive man (!), the race for the phone card, your husband’s reaction, the vending machine.....!!! 😂
I’m sure you’ve missed your vocation as a writer or news reporter Kryssy!
When Rocky comes....will you need a midwife?? Or at least something to bite on - a bullet - or oil?! Hope he is ‘born’ soon!! We’ll look forward to Episode 4 Kryssy!
I laughed - even though I was eating as I read it- I remember being constipated as a child - I just couldn’t ho and it was agony - every festive season we went to the parish church to hear the nurses ‘ choir and this year, after it, I was in so much pain that my mother made me hover over a bowl of steaming hot water - I don’t know if it is s recognised treatment but it made the earth move and I passed a shit the size and shape of a Heinz tin of soup / no fear feet for a six yr old child - nothing has come close to the pain since though at the start of pregnancy I remember pushing so hard I thought I’d pass my innards too - hopefully Rocky passes soon - at least it’s not Arnie with his “ I’ll be back!”
Rocky will make a speedy exit now if he knows what’s good for him otherwise I can see him ending up in the same place as the man formerly known as your hubby. 😁 Hope you 😴well and have a productive day tomorrow. 🙂Jo xxx
I now can’t stop singing eye of the tiger thankfully in my head as I’m a crap singer!
Oh wow I so can’t wait for Rocky to hit the pan but fearful he will crack the ceramics and cause a flood knowing your luck Lol!
Loving these updates despite your predicament and undoubted discomfort (and starvation) you really are making lots of us smile and giggle and that’s priceless
Love you I always look forward to reading your post, as Bev said you make us all smile and giggle it is priceless and something I've needed lately thank you ..
Hoping Rocky passes soon and you can take hubble home ..Take care my friend Lorraine xx💙💙
Kryssy, you are just the best!!! Your updates are hilarious and brighten my days. Holding my breath for Rocky's imminent departure... Wish we could all be nearby cheering you (and Rocky) on!
Krissy! I'm still grinning from ear to ear....you do have a wicked pen and a wry sense of humour that's totally entertaining! You've described hospital surroundings with all their sights and sounds to a tee!
Now....get that boulder tough guy Rocky to exit asap! Sips of hot tea/ coffee/ water usually do the trick! Gd luck and keep us posted!
I bow to you, Kryssy. Where you find those fabulous phrases in the mids of an agonizing struggle with your incompliant bowels remains a mystery to me, but I thoroughly enjoy hearing/reading from you.
Anything that doesn't pay rent needs to get the %:&& out, so here's hoping it passes soon, before you start chewing on the ward furniture.
You know what, Kryssy? If you went back through all your posts on here, you would have the excellent makings of a ‘diary of a cancer patient.’ You should definitely put it into writing and get it published!
Like everyone I’m waiting for the BIG evacuation. You might find you need stitches after the birth. What are you looking forward to eating first after the event.
I always thought of French as a romantic language but after seeing the the translation of Connard I view it in a different light.
Oh Kryssy, you do make me laugh. I don't know how you manage to keep your sense of humour but well done. Thank you for a good giggle. I was feeling pretty down this morning in grey, rainy England. Can't get warm and just starting to feel really rotten, going into the worst part of my last Chemo Cycle. Waiting for my scan and then it's the fear of waiting for the result, nearly a month, knowing my Ca125 has gone up, and my Onc had suggested stopping three sessions ago. Now I feel much better and ashamed for my morbid thoughts, when you're going through what you are.
So hope you gain your release soon and can keep 'going' and have some normal food. Keep smiling, loads of love, Solange 😊Xx
Kryssie you had me in stitches. You are such a talented writer. You bring the whole of your incarcerated experience to life with such humour. We are there alongside you desperately awaiting the arrival of that nasty Rocky and keen to see him flushed away into the Blue yonder. Please keep us posted and may that potage soon be in your bowl xx
Still laughing - but seriously hope you are feeling better and can eat something. Today is my mum's 93rd birthday party with a great spread of food and I just can't eat!
Oh, Kryssy! Here's hoping Rocky has made his appearance by this time and has followed Conard out to sea in search of new adventures. I wonder if the flavored water with paprika played a role in the downward movement of Conard? If so, you may have to sneak back to the snack machine and get another bottle! I am reading this on Sunday morning here in the US and giggling so hard. Hugs to you and your parasitic lump. I hope the earth moves for you soon!
OMG! How the heck do you write with such clarity, detail, and humor given all that you are going through? My chemo brain would not be able to fashion the first paragraph. They say that writing can be catharsis - and I hope that's true for you and that you will be able to "write" Rocky right out of there! Waiting anxiously for the sequel. Oh, BTW, I was in the ER early in my first line treatment for severe constipation. It was not fun! Under the humor, I know what you're going through it not easy! Hugs from Seattle, Kathy
Hi Kryssy, being often in the same poodicament as yourself, you really made me laugh. You should definitely write a book. Hope relief comes your way soon!
Come on Rocky! Your posts are definitely one of those unexpected silver linings of the cancer cloud and keep us in stitches! But seriously, will you get to go home once he is finally born?! Xxx
That's really kind of you but I'm too old to write a book and besides, no-one would believe all the chaos that happens to me. If my life had been different I would have been either a doctor or a writer. Probably best I didn't become a doctor as I'm very clumsy and would have killed most of my patients one way or the other. I did begin writing my first book when I was 14. I persuaded my father to hire a typewriter for about sixpence a month. I would bash away after school and then put the papers away in my wardrobe for secrecy. One day I looked back to what I had written previously and the pages were missing. I challenged my mother who had an Irish fit and said, "I knew this would happen. I told your father not to take them". She went on to say that my father was taking the papers into work - at the GPO Sorting Office in London - bit by bit, but never any near the top and everyone was reading it. Apparently, everyone couldn't get enough of it so he took the chance to take the top pages, not thinking that I always re-read the latest pages. I waited until he got home from work and I was really cross - so unlike me as my father terrified me. He came in with an envelope and I asked him what was in it. He looked at my mother and she just shrugged. He admitted to what he had been doing and I took the papers and the great pile that I had already written and tore them to shreds. I then said those immortal words - "I shall never write another word as long as I live".
The typewriter went back and that was that. I didn't quite fulfill the promise I had made to myself as many years later I did write some short stories and actually won second prize in a writer's competition. I've also had some poetry published, but never a career or money from my scribblings. My boys loved me making up stories for them too. Back in the 80s I used to tell them stories of a boy wizard who had magic powers and drove adults crazy with his wizardry. I didn't write anything down but JK Rowling did and we all know what happened next.
I do love a good story - especially if it's true - and if I can make it funny then I love it even more. I'm not eloquent nor clever but it doesn't matter. So long as someone smiles, that's joy enough for me. Thank you for being so kind but there will not be a book - unless some ghost writer wants to have a go. The story of my life is far more interesting than the story of my death anyway. Put it in a serial on the BBC as a true story and no bugger would believe it wasn't a fairy tale. Guess I'm just one of those crazy people who drop onto the planet quietly one day, cause mayhem and mischief and then drop off again.
So pleased you are back with us. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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