Well, the morning after the infamous invasion of the male crutch snatcher dawned, and reality hit home, or, more accurately, the toilet. Poor Matthew spent most of the day auditioning for a role in “Toxic Avenger: The Loo Chronicles.” Every trip to the bathroom had him convinced he was about to pass out, and frankly, I don’t blame him. If there’s one thing about chemo, it creates the Bog of Eternal Stench (Copyright to Labyrinth 1986 on that one), nasty stuff with nastier side effects.

Meanwhile, Mary Migraine is still locked up tighter than the Crown Jewels, but the medication I’m on is taking me on a roller coaster of nausea that would make the ride designer at Alton Towers jealous. The joys of upping my dose every week for four weeks means every Friday is like starting all over again. Brilliant! Just what you need when you’re juggling a full-time job, hospital appointments, caring for Matthew, and starring in your very own episode of “Wife, Mum, Granny & Everything In Between.”

Last week, I caught myself daydreaming about buggering off for a week, just vanishing to a little cottage in the countryside, letting the late autumn sun warm my face, and pretending, just for an hour, that life hasn’t been a monumental pile of shitty, shit, shit for the last four months. Pure bliss! I tell ya!

And then I realised that, another moment later, I really miss laughing. Proper, belly-shaking, tears-down-your-face laughing. That used to be my daily medicine, back when life wasn’t a constant stress test. Spiritually speaking, Biblical text says the closer you get to God, the more you suffer, just like He did. Well, cheers for that, mate. Love you and all, but any chance of a breather? Seriously, just a short one! Even if it is just down the road in Whitby for 5 fooking minutes!…

As we barrel towards silly season at the community centre, we now approach the busiest twelve weeks of the year; I’m just hoping I can keep my shit together. Fingers, toes, eyes, and anything else crossable are firmly crossed for a Rodger-free New Year and a healthy husband. We did have tickets to see the Queen Tribute band this evening, but we have had to pass because Mighty Morphine Power Stranger is back in our lives in liquid form, and it’s only day 2 after chemo, so it’s pushing it a bit.

The tickets have not gone to waste, though; I have passed them on to the in-laws, so they can both have a fab night dancing to Queen classics and arguing over who’s going to eat my vegetarian meal that comes with the ticket, ha ha!

Here’s to surviving the weekend, maybe finding a laugh or two along the way, and maybe, just maybe, the in-laws getting drunk and dancing on tables this evening- who knows?

We live in hope, don’t we?

Have a good un!

Kate

Disclaimer: No toilets were harmed in the making of this blog, though several were traumatised. Side effects may include spontaneous giggling, eye-rolling, and an urgent need for tea. Please consult your local Queen tribute band before attempting any of the activities mentioned above. Laughter not guaranteed, but highly recommended.