The fight

Everyone calls it the "fight". Everyone who hasn't done it, that is.

I'd better say one thing - all these phrases and stereotypes that surround cancer, I despise them. So please, don't patronise me with them.

I'm a stright to the point, practical kinda gal. I look at the facts, I deal with the facts.

Everyone, from my best friend in the world to my dad, tells me "you can beat this", "you're stronger than it", "don't give up the fight"... it's not a fight, it's an illness that I am trying to recover from; I can't beat it, I can try to get over it but I don't really have any control. And I'm not strong... I'm doing my best, but I'm not this strong person who can "kick cancer's ass". I'm just doing my best.

So here's what's happened and what's going to happen -

I had an op to remove the first tumour from my lung. All good.
I had some chemo. Not good, but it did its thing.
I had another op to remove the second tumour from my lung, along with half a lung. All good.
I had some more chemo. Meh.
Then the Ewing's.

I'm on *another* round of chemo for this. Then, if this chemo kicks in, they'll operate... they'll whip out the tumour and, if they have to, my pelvis. I'll get a shiny new pelvis. Or at least half a pelvis. The right half. Or wrong, if you will.

That's that.