43. 1 down 2 to go.

Yesterday I woke up not in a good place.

And I don't mean geographically.

I had pain in my chest and panic and when I opened the blinds at 7.50am and was greeted with a white landscape, I knew I didn't want to travel.

I rung my driver and luckily caught him before he had set off, which he thanked me for, and let the hospital know I wouldn't be in... again.... as soon as I did that, the pains in my chest stopped, at least, and I knew I could stay in bed.

Through the day however, there was screaming, crying, my voice kept fading out, emails were sent to oncology doctors, Paul managed to finally get the dietician to instruct the local GP and pharmacy to supply my food replacement so I dont have to keep buying it ( £ 10 for 4 tiny bottles and they tell you to try and drink 6 a day 😳)

But I knew whatever I had managed to put off, was only going to have to be achieved the next day.

So today, Tuesday morning arrived, still white and freezing, but my head was in hospital mode, and I was up, showered,dressed, and collected by 11am.

Today's treatment was...... numb.......sad......silent.

Even the radiographers didn't talk to me much, I think they could see trying to engage me with anything other than my name dob and 1st line of my address might snap me back into my reality of where I was and I'd either start crying, screaming or just leave.

Like so many times as I laid on that metal table, feeling my breath brush through half pursed lips, eyelids firmly squeezed shut so I didnt see the inside of my mask so close it was almost pressing on my eyeballs. I thought about the last time.

I have spent every treatment wondering how that last time will feel. Counting those last few seconds of that last minute, of that last treatment.

Today it felt so close, that when they rushed in to unclip me and took the mask away I opened my eyelids and big fat tears spilled out from behind my shut lids and fell heavily down my cheeks as I sat up.

I know they saw, silently they busied themselves cleaning the table, hanging my mask back on its rack as I sat on the chair and got dressed.

As I picked up my bag and put on my face mask I walked slowly out of room 3 and no one spoke.

Tomorrow will be the penultimate treatment, and then a day to rest up and wait for Mid day Friday.

Finally I'll be living those fantasised last 30 secs and I can leave, carrying my nemesis as the only proof of the worst, most painful, terrifying, exhausting, damaging 6 weeks of my entire life.

But thats what it is, cancer, something that breaks you, kills you totally or just part of you, and leaves you changed, forever, however long you have left.