LFG BQ

Sooo this week it’s 4:33am on Saturday morning and guess what? I’m awake!   After five or six days of sweet, normal sleep I appear to be back on the ‘on steroids? Well you can absolutely RELY on waking up between 3 and 4am’ train. Honestly, I could put the mortgage on it.   Joy.   Mind you, it turns out it is a semi-decent time to write my blog. Though I don’t plan to post this until Sunday evening. For why I hear you ask? Well, Monday is the next big milestone in this journey - my post-round four PET scan.   D-Day v2, part one if you will.   D-Day v1 was diagnosis day. Which was a ball, as I’m sure you can imagine. But on that day nearly two months ago, the first real stage gate was put in the calendar - the PET scan. You’ll remember the photo of my first PET scan. The oh shit, have you seen what’s going on in my chest and neck PET scan. That was the moment the penny dropped when this became something serious, something to worry about.   Well on that day, ...

It is 4:08am on Thursday 18th November. It’s early, sure, but we’ve got a 9:50am flight to New York to catch from Heathrow and an early start doesn’t really count when you’re flying off on holiday, right? Oh, and there is the obligatory, yet insanely overpriced full English and a beer waiting with my name on it!    It is 4:08am on Thursday 18th November. I’m not on my way to Heathrow like I should be, and I’m not asleep. My hair is falling out though, so later this evening I’m getting it shaved.  Life is cruel sometimes.    We’re a week and a day on from Round Three of the treatment and it is lingering. My stomach feels hungover, a constant uncomfortableness. My sleep resembles that of a newborn, incapable of completing more than a few hours in any one stretch. But it is the sight of my hair falling out in my hands that is the most sobering aspect of this round. We always knew it was likely at some point, it would be remarkable had my hair stayed for the durati...

I quite like the boxing. Like, I enjoy seeing Anthony Joshua getting flattened by a fat Mexican, and I enjoy the Fury redemption story. I keep a casual eye on it but nothing too committed. One thing I do know is that rounds are scored 10-9 unless someone hits the deck a time or two when it might be 10-8, or even 10-7. I lost round one of my treatment 10-8. I hit the deck early and hard, before staggering to my feet again and getting to the bell. As you can imagine, this meant I was full of anxiety ahead of the second round. When a boxer hits the deck twice in the first round, he isn't usually seeing the third or fourth. His corner will pull him out if the referee doesn't; the fighters health and wellbeing completely paramount.  So a couple of Wednesday's ago, I tied up my boots (Gazelle's), put some vaseline on my cheekbones (took my anti-sickness pill) and strode through the doors at the hospital. Round two. Ding, ding, ding. This time, to add even more anxiety to the ...