This won’t be a long post, I’m afraid.

I’m now well into the single figure countdown for my radiotherapy treatment today with session R22/8.

Just eight more sessions to go.

I hope they’re not all like today’s.

I was warned that the final two weeks would be the hardest to handle, and that’s already looking as though it will be the case.  I didn’t sleep much last night thanks to the pain of new ulcers and a slowly tightening constriction down the inside of my throat.

I was in a lot of pain.

A promised, it feels like sunburn on the inside.

If I didn’t know any better, I might say the cancer was making a last stand.

Maybe I don’t know better…

But… OW!

What little sleep I did get was punctuated by dealing with the copious amounts of gunk my throat now seems keen – if not eager – to produce.  It’s horrible, horrible stuff – and the part of this process I will miss the least.

Plus, I’m now kicking myself for not buying shares in paper kitchen towels before over half of our weekly shopping trolley was taken up by dozens of rolls of the stuff.

paper towels

My sister ran me to hospital and back again yesterday.  Which is just as well, as I spent most of the journey nodding off.  I came close to sleep once or twice under the scanner/blaster, too.

In fact, I probably would have had to be woken by the radiographers if, you know, I hadn’t been battling an incurable illness for, at best, my ability to speak and, at worst, my life.

Trust me, that’s a thought that will keep you awake.  Especially with the dulcet tones of the Cancer Killer 9000 revolving around your tightly-pinned meshed head.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom, however.  I waited in the usual waiting area for the treatment and – as ever – one of the radiographers opened the door to an unoccupied changing cubicle and called me over…


As I headed in his direction, I could see that he was grinning.  And then he added…

“Or, should I call you B. Strange?”

B. Strange!  I haven’t been called that name in years!  Back when I was starting out as a full tim writer, I was hired by Egmont Press to write five books in a new kids’ comedy horror series called Too Ghoul For School.

As there were several of us working on the series, the publisher came up with a spooky sounding name for the ‘author’.

B. Strange.

I think I’ve been outed!

By the time I got home, I was so exhausted that all I could do was crawl into bed and sleep for a couple of hours.

Until today’s particular side effects found their own, shrilling voice, that was.

I can’t say I’m looking forward to tomorrow.  A full day of chemo, followed by another session under the bug zapper of death.

‘Til then…

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  1. You know how the screen play goes: the evil mutant rallies and apears invincible – just before our hero and his allies DEFEAT the foul thing.
    Carry on, B. Strange!


  2. You’re in the home stretch, Tommy. So proud of you, and sending prayers for rest. Hang in there. We are all pulling for you and loving you.


  3. Hang in there Tommy. You are in the home stretch. You got this! Stay strong!


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