I just cannot cannot cannot get whats in my brain down onto paper. All day Ive been trying to �do art� and it just wont happen � even though I can see what I want to happen, so clearly in my head. This is partly, I am sure, through lack of talent but also through fucking stupid chemo brain not letting brain waves reach down as far as the bloody pencil in my hand.
Ive got two pictures in my head � one�s quite heavy on the papier mache and the other one�s more collage-y. The collage one needs some photos of L to make it right but he was so pissy with me earlier that I cant even start to take them, because the whole point of the picture is to do with the good bits and theyre few and far enough between without him spoiling them with sighing and tutting and finding more important things to do.
The papier mache one should be Ok once I get started but Ive had three or four goes at just printing off the resources I need and never got further than seeing if there�s paper in the printer. I don�t even know if I can do papier mache any more. I can teach it, sure, but when its my own��well, whatever.
This is my �frustration day� � all the days when youre having chemotherapy have special names. It helps the nurses pigeonhole you nicely and to trot out the correct response depending on how you should be feeling. Most of my frustration day is spent with being frustrated because people keep telling me how I should be feeling and how �perfectly natural and OK� it is. Actually, its NOT ok to feel like this � its shitty and, if Im perfectly honest, Im done with it now and I don�t want to do it anymore.
�Staying positive� is a massive drain on my resources when I could just be �feeling sorry for myself�. Oh, don�t get me wrong, I know this feeling will pass and I�ll soon be back to my making-the-best-of-things self but, right now, cancer can just fuck right off.
And I�ll tell you who else can fuck right off, and that�s the dumbass at the hospital who thought it would be a good idea to send me a colonoscopy appointment today. Funnily enough, that was pretty much what I told them they could do when I phoned them up and said I wasn�t going to be going. Actually, what I said was �Really? You think that�s a good idea? Right now? You don�t honestly think that might be able to wait a little while, seeing as how I only saw the gastroenterologist in October and he didn�t think to mention it then?� Half an hour later they phoned me back and said I didn�t have to go but by then I was already crying and Jooj was cuddling me on the sofa which is not the way around its supposed to be AT ALL.
My legs are aching and Im sure that�s just because my legs are aching but right now (and in keeping with the five pages of �possible side effects� which is pretty much my only reading material these days) Im thinking that curling up under the duvet for long stretches of the day has given me thrombosis. I have a massive bruise on my hand from where they put the line in on Thursday, too. I tried to take a picture of myself just now, looking pale and tortured, which is how I feel, so that you would feel sorry for me but every picture was of a wrinkly old bald woman with no makeup on, which is just laughable.
Still, that should all be sorted out tomorrow when Im off to some kind of make-up lesson type thing. I signed up to it in a moment of weakness and now am trapped into going along by all sorts of well-meaning souls who think it will �do me good�, because it�s a �bit of pampering�. I truly and honestly cannot imagine anything worse than an �informal skincare and makeup workshop� with a load of other bald, harassed, tired-looking strangers, but if I don�t go I wont be upholding the �staying positive� mantra and will be letting the side down. There�s talk of a goodie bag but unless it contains a half bottle of vodka I don�t know Im going to be able to give it the props to which I am sure it deems itself deserving. My dad has already phoned me twice to tell me that he will happily give me a lift if I don�t feel like driving, so you can tell how important it is to everyone that I go along.
Oh, and its ALL BLOODY AFTERNOON.
Do you think I should take my wig? Im sure Im supposed to � to help me feel �normal� � but that just makes me want to take it even less.
I want my hair back. Being fiercely bald has lost its appeal and I want my hair back. I want to brush it and fiddle with it and shampoo it and generally just�well�to have it, actually. And now Ive made myself cry again just thinking about my stupid hair, which really wasn�t that great to start off with.
Actually, I just want my life back and to have something else to think about and talk about other than having cancer.
Cancer can fuck off.
Later
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