Chemo No 25. I’m 50 this month

You want to watch it eating bacon man, I heard somewhere it can give you cancer.

Mind it was probably on here so I’d just take it with a pinch of salt. Not too much mind cos I heard salt is bad for you as well.

Ach bollocks. Eat, drink & be merry. Just got back from watching the lasses footy at my father in laws and I cooked us up a superb bit steak finished off with butter. He scoffed the lot, bless him which is great to see as he’s always complaining he’s not got much of an appetite these days. We even had a cheeky glass of Rioja and he savoured every last drop as they’ve got him on de-alcoholised wine these days.


Brown sauce is for sausage sarnies. I prefer bacon clean but can have a thin spread. I’ve just checked there is no brown sauce in the house. Not even a thieved packet.

Red sauce is for bairns. Or for grown ups who probably still put sugar in tea.
That’s me!

Keep on keeping on, Foggy!
Brown sauce is for sausage sarnies. I prefer bacon clean but can have a thin spread. I’ve just checked there is no brown sauce in the house. Not even a thieved packet.

Red sauce is for bairns. Or for grown ups who probably still put sugar in tea.
First time I've taken umbrage at anything you've said! Only real blokes have their tea milky and sugary...
1969. I was born when them Americans were on their way back from the moon. They small stepped for (a) man 3 days before and splashed in the ocean the day after. Or they were in a studio making it all up. I’ll go with the former. It has always stuck with me that I was born when this massive event was going on. The bairn went to Orlando with her mother a few years ago and brought me an Apollo 11 badge back. One of them sew’ey on ones. She knows.

The summer of 69. That Canadian chap sings a song about it. It’s still on the tellybox now as an advert. Woodstock. The best known of the big early festivals. Concorde and the Jumbo Jet made their debuts. The Beatles released their last album and jammed on a roof til the poliss turned up and they fucked off across a zebra crossing.

And as I learned recently the start of the Pride movement after the Stonewall nightclub thing. Monty Python had their first Flying Circus aired. The ‘troubles’ began in Northern Ireland. Troubles ffs. I have trouble going for a shit. What a fucking daft thing to call it.

All in all there were a few big changes and events around the time I was born. And that was 50 whole years ago.

I didn’t think I’d see 50. At one point I didn’t think I’d see last year’s World Cup. But I’m still here waffling on while sat in the chemo ward for number 25.

In better news after the episode of a month ago and the emergency trip to A&E I find myself feeling much better. I don’t eat beef or chicken now but fish and even a bacon sandwich are manageable. Small meals often. My pain levels have gone down to a point I forget to take painkillers. My oncologist even said the chemotherapy may be working. I’ve mentioned before she is Dr Doom. ‘You realise this isn’t a cure’ was my introduction to the latest chemo brew. Now all of a sudden she has had an optimism implant. It unnerves me.

The nausea lasted 6 days after the last chemo. On top of the usual fatigue. Fatigue is different to tiredness. There is no comfort in rest. It’s like someone turned up the gravity and zapped my energy cells. Nausea is different to vomiting too. I can’t just puke and feel better. My whole body feels dizzyqueasy made worse by moving.

I also felt a hopelessness I’d never felt before. Everything seemed pointless. I couldn’t feel any joy no matter what I thought about. 6 days stuck at home where making a cup of tea seemed like a mountain climb. For the first time I understood why some people don’t do chemo. I have a friend, bit younger than me, diagnosed long time after but with the dreaded spread, who isn’t having chemo. She’s currently doing bucket list stuff. I get it. However I feel a duty to nearest and dearest to hang around as long as possible. I think the best way to describe it is gruelling. So I’ll gruel away.

On day 7 I got to Roker beach with our lass and the pooch followed by fish and chips in Grannie Annies. No doubt it is not an in place but it was open and it felt like the Ritz looking out over Monaco to me given the week before it.

The bairn is off down in Cornwall with the University Airforce. And having a ball by the look of it. All things being well I’m off to collect her from Bristol on 10 July and we have a week together. I’m hoping to get up to the Lakes in a Wi-fi/cellular black spot. Walking, conversation and just a good time. Then our lass is taking me somewhere posh on my birthday. Overnight and everything. With a spa thing chucked in. Wait til they see my skin zip. From sternum to pube top. I wince when I see me in a mirror so fuck knows how it looks to others. The weight is falling off too. This is a bad thing in chemoland. So a few hard days ahead. I must get on top of the psychological side. That was new one but hopefully I’m better prepared. There’s no time for moping and self pity.

Or maybe. Ain’t no use in complainin. When you’ve got a job to do.
From the summer of 69 to the summer of 19.

All the best.
I missed your most recent posts and suddenly thought I’d not seen you post anything for a while, phew to read this :)