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| Cancergiggles is an idiot's guide to accepting, living with, laughing at and dying from cancer. The very, very last bit I can't be absolutely sure of, but then who the hell can? I could have written some beautifully crafted, grammatically correct essays but I hope you will understand, that when I say "I don't have a lot of time" I mean it far more literally than you do. I just wanted scribble a few thoughts to maybe light a spark in people - and then it became a book about Cancer, Life, Death, Illness and Politics. ISBN 0955198801 |
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copyright © 2004 Cass Brown
copyright © 2004
Cass Brown
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posted Tuesday, 5 April 2005
T-I-G-G-E-R
T-I-G-G-E-R sat on the window ledge and along with a bunch of other fluffy toys in the chemo/blood test tower, seemed to think it was all very funny. In order to keep Wizards and their helpers busy, I was apparently designed with veins which act like vampires at daybreak. Show them a needle and they shrivel up and disappear as if they had never been part of a living being. The fluffy toys are a stark reminder of how lucky I was, to have taken forty something years before my introductory course to cancer and its associated goodies. The advantage of these years (and thanks to some pretty impressive wizardry, its now up to 51) is the accumulation at least a little wisdom and perspective. How you are meant to deal with this when a small child is involved is completely beyond me.
As I am only taking wimps pills, I am a rare visitor to this inner sanctum of the Wizards Castle but I immediately spotted that something was a little odd. I think the giveaway was the fact that about half a dozen nurses hid behind curtains, in clinical waste bins and under patients whilst screaming “it’s the Cancergiggles Man”. Was it the prospect of adverse publicity from the website or the notoriety of my veins? There was a very distinct feeling that I was in the presence of a group of people who had just drawn straws. After a couple of abortive incursions they managed to suck enough red stuff to test and for me this was something of a positive result. I am well used to leaving blood tests looking like an overgrown lump of candyfloss, as numerous little lumps of cotton wool are applied to the needle holes which refuse to donate a drop of blood to the syringe, but bleed like hell when the needle is removed. I wonder if I should double up on the warfarin before a test so that they can just mop up a pint or so of blood and send the sponge to the lab.
Marcus Phlebotimus Chemolius duly analysed my blood with the result that the Head Wizard pronounced that it was still red, I was still breathing and I should have some more pills. Whilst the man who empties my bins would have probably said the same thing, there is something which makes a diagnosis from the Wizard, rather more convincing and comforting. Perhaps it’s his many years of training and experience – maybe it’s just the white coat!
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