The jet lagged early hours of the day are filled with pain. Upper back pain.
Its reasonably likely this has been caused by the way I haul myself up to compensate for my weak lower back and buttock pain. But it recreates moments in my mind that remind me of how cancer spread, unrecognised, through my body last year.
Firstly, it really does hurt. Not quite the excruciating agony that hit me in May last year when I remember waking in a London hotel, having just accepted a new job. But lying on my back hurts. Lying on my front hurts. Lying on my sides hurts. And despite the jet lag I’d love to sleep.
My painkillers haven’t dented this beast. It feels like I’ve been punched in the back, but there’s no bruise.
I have taken to grabbing the little hanger thing above the car door and hauling myself out using this, to alleviate having to rely on my unstable legs, hips etc.
But, as my cancer has returned to my pelvis, it’s possible it has returned to my back. And while I’m somehow capable of being told this has happened when the experts eventually look, I really hope my paranoia is all it is.
The concept of dying has never frightened me. Being in pain is something I’d rather not face but is becoming more common despite my best efforts to utilise my medications effectively.
More to share with Oncobabe when we meet again on Monday. A change in medication, perhaps after an invasive biopsy, bringing the end game sharply closer, is a probable outcome. It’s a reality I try hard to push away. Focusing on distracting myself from with travel, love, football.
But this nasty, invasive, unwelcome visitor to my body will eventually win its battle. Unless something extraordinary happens. No matter how positive I am.