New Macmillan mental health therapist update…

 

Got a weird number ringing me this morning. I was in bed, trying to sleep, but that never actually happens. Turns out Julie had told Macmillan that I’ve been struggling more than usual, so they’ve assigned me someone new — Louise.

 

She rings, we talk, and she asks if she can come round.

Me: “Oh let me check my diary… yeah I’m free, unless the Grim Reaper shows up, but other than that, crack on.”

 

So she turns up at 12. She’s 36, seems alright — we’ll see how she gets on. She’s already clued in by Julie but asks me to “start from the beginning.”

 

So I do.

 

The carcinoma they found when I was 9 on my right leg. Missing a full year of school for chemo

The cervical cancer. Which they got 

And now… this. And its spread 

 

I told her it’s probably just my karma for fucking over a genuinely decent bloke, then my ex, then  hurtinb one of my good friends. Gave her that saga.

Then the whole Ryan situation — which she told me off for.

 

Apparently I “shouldn’t be having sex right now.”

I laughed.

“If you saw him and knew him, you’d get it. Jesus, I was drying up down there but he could get the juices flowing again.”

 

She didn’t find that as funny as I did. I need a nurse that isn't so serious  I want someone who can banter with me I have dark jokes  and a weird sense of humour 

 

But here’s the bit I didn’t joke about: Ryan is actually a good person. A genuinely good one. And I don’t want to lose him, at all — not even as a friend. Truth is, I’ve got no idea if he even wants to stay friends with me. I’m honestly scared to ask. 

 

Then I told her the worst part: after chemo, my mental health tanks. Everything hurts. Everything’s heavy. And all I want is stronger drugs. I even joked that I need to find a drug dealer — someone who actually supplies the good shit.

 

And now here I am, laid in fucking agony with my electric blanket on, wrapped up, hat on, dressing gown on, trying to keep warm and trying not to scream.

 

If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.