Getting Ready for Cycle 2,

If it wasn’t for COVID, they’d have never found cancer. In March 2024, I walked into A&E during the chaos of the first lockdown, asked to be seen, and passed out. COVID meds didn’t work so they dug a little deeper until they noticed something about my blood. The next few months were a blur, even considering this was the first six months of the 2020 Lockdown. First, they diagnosed me properly: “Oh yes, you have cancer, had they not told you?…“, then triaged me “You’re strong. We should look at treatment in 18 months maybe…“, then WOOPS - spontaneous internal bleeding and “Let’s schedule your chemo for two weeks from today.”.

It’s only been four years, which is not as long as I thought it would be. I was told it would be longer, 5 to 8 years maybe. I can’t remember now, but it was definitely more than four years. However many times I square my shoulders and tell myself I’m being silly, it does, somehow, still feels like a failure.

It’s nonsense of course, but that’s where your brain goes when it’s night and you’ve woken up, out of breath and sweating.

It’s incredibly difficult for me to think back four years and unravel the tangled up anxiety of cancer treatment and pandemic stress. I want to though. I am trying to figure out how I feel about being lined up for another batch of poison after only four years, and I am not sure how much of my anxiety is pandemic trauma. I guess I’ll find out.

Will I be fine? Absolutely.

Will it suck? Definitely.

Will it come back? Yes. In 5 to 8 years.

More or Less.