Week 2 of Chemo — A Day of Needles, Realisations, and Letting Go

Well… today is week 2 of chemo.

I got here at 9:10am, same as last week, walking in with that strange mix of dread and acceptance you get when something awful becomes routine. The nurses greeted me with their usual warmth, but the first thing they asked was:

“Where’s your port?”

And I just said it flat out:

“I removed it. With the help of my Macmillan nurse.”

And boom — the look.

If you’ve ever done something medical staff consider ridiculous, you know exactly the look I mean.
Eyebrows up.
Half-shock, half-judgement.
That little silent moment where they’re clearly thinking, why would you put yourself through that?

But I did what I had to do.
At the time, taking it out made me feel normal for one last moment. Like I could reclaim my body, even for a second. Like I wasn’t just “the cancer patient.” Like I wasn’t wired into machines and labels.

I needed it.
I genuinely did. and i know he didn't like needles and didn't want to look at it, so I removed it,  Julie my Macmillan nurse talked me through it, 
But sitting here now, typing this with tears in my eyes, watching everyone else get hooked up without flinching… yeah.
I should’ve kept the bloody thing in.

So today, they fitted a new port.

Christ almighty.

That feeling when it goes in — the pressure, the sting, the discomfort — my whole body tensed. I don’t like needles at the best of times. And this? This wasn’t just a needle. This was a needle with commitment issues.

But I got through it. Because that’s what you do.
Cancer doesn’t ask if you’re okay with things. It just hands you the menu and says, Pick your poison, love.

They told me to take a seat afterwards. So I sat next to a gentleman I recognised from last week — one of those faces you silently acknowledge with a nod because you both know you’re fighting separate battles in the same war.

I put my right earphone in and reached for my phone. Just to distract myself. Just to feel connected to the outside world for a minute.

But when I opened my messages and my pics everything I’d been avoiding smacked me right in the chest.

Because scrolling through my phone made me realise something huge:

Whatever situation ship I’ve been tangled in… the lad I’ve been sleeping with… whatever that was — it’s done. It has to be.

Last night after he left,  I was lying in bed, talking to myself like a madwoman, trying to make sense of my own emotions. And the truth hit me hard:

I can’t keep doing this to myself.
I’m all over the place emotionally.
And I’d be dumb as fuck to think he’d ever actually like me.

Because let’s be real — I was just something to do.
A distraction.
A body.
A hole.

And that hurts to admit.
It slices a little part of your pride out and holds it up to the light.

But denial doesn’t pay bills, and it doesn’t protect hearts either.

So this morning, while hooked up to chemo, with that cold chemical feeling creeping into my veins, I blocked him. Not to be dramatic — but because I knew if I didn’t do it now, I never would.

And here’s the weirdest part:
I don’t hate him.
Not even close.

I actually hope he finds someone who sees how amazing he is. Someone who fits the life he wants. Someone who isn’t battling cancer, trauma, heartbreak, and fucking existential dread on a Monday morning.

Me?
I was foolish.
I thought something real could happen.
I thought if he saw the real me — the messy, hurting, scared version — that maybe he’d still want me.

But deep down, I knew he wouldn’t.
And that has to be okay.

I still had him on my lock screen. His face staring back at me every time I unlocked my phone. A reminder, a fantasy, a habit.

I’ll change it.
Not today, maybe — but soon.
Because I can’t sit here hooked up to chemo thinking about a man who never truly saw me.

Right now, I need that space for myself.
For healing.
For strength.
For survival.

Today isn’t just week 2 of chemo.
It’s day 1 of letting go.
Day 1 of choosing myself — even if it hurts like hell.