Brief update... not as wittily irreverent as previous ones, but 'Hey! Them's the breaks.'
Having been told, after the nose-scraping bone-scan, 'it's in yer bones mate'*, I'm yesterday advised 'we aint so sure'*.
*[My paraphrase...
Any suggestion that Chas & Dave are now working as NHS doctors is coincidental.
(But the porter did look a tad Elvis-y - maybe it was the shades and lamé onsesy, because thirty-piece backing bands seem to have become de-rigeur nowadays... hell, even Lidl have 'em at the deli counter.)
Other Chas & Daves may be available.
Always read the label and do not exceed the recommended dose.]
Next time I get one of those 'how was it for you today' feedback cards, I may suggest waiting rooms be suitably enlivened with stuff like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4FDoQTyYWzM (Or, even: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=erGNSQMJ79Q)
...anyway... whether-or-not they're trying to reduce the chemo bill, or perhaps some new intern is simply working their way through a 'medical condition list', current revised view is... cue laughter: arthritis.
Yep. Arfur-itis. That 'focii of uptake' ain't no cancer cluster, but simply 'me ageing sticks and stones'. [Who let Chas & Dave back in? Shut that bl***y door.]
So yeah... next week I may be pregnant. Or dead.
Meantime, as the hormone-block has resulted in 'zero testosterone' (try saying that with a mouthful of Maltesers), I'll continue to eBay-binge on cushions and soft furnishings, while playing my Neil Diamond rekkerds ('You'll Be a Woman Soon' might be particularly apt). Has anyone got an old Lambretta going cheap?
And, when the radiotherapy kicks-in I should be able to 'glow nicely in the dark'... scheduled for November/December, it'll be too late to boost this year's trick-or-treating (is anybody else fed-up with Haribos, or it it just me?) but nicely-timed for a seasonal Xmas delight. At least it'll save on torch batteries.
Edited by member 07 Sep 2018 at 10:42
| Reason: The ghost of Burt Reynolds spoke to me.