Not that I'm a Queen in any sense of the word. Bitch Queen possibly.
However, the news appears to be entirely true, the reports are in Bill (my tumour) is dead. Dead dead dead. Fuck you cancer. I have not read the reports yet myself, they will be posted to me. But my surgeons tone of disbelief as she read the contents of both reports was enough to convince me that they are probably correct. Since no one was expecting anything like the insane level of recovery that has happened, most reports are currently being read in tones from startlement to outright WTF?
Because the short version of the story goes: One day while lying in bed I was startled by a lump in my right breast... after an extremely hurried trip to my GP, followed by an equally hurried trip to Breastcare Canterbury, ONE HELL OF A TUMOUR was found. Like 7cm across big. That's a pretty big chunk of a boob. For some people that would be their whole nork. At the same time samples were taken of the nodes under my arms to check for spreading cancer cells. Because with a tumour that epic they expected there to be some. Two biopsies showed no sign of spread, but since both samples also showed no actual node tissue, and a couple of nodes were enlarged it was assumed that the spread was there and just managing to escape notice (in reality it turns out that against the odds there was almost certainly no spread - no cancer cells living or dead were found in the removed nodes - and it was just my dicky immune system [oh hai, fibromyalgia, thanks for being good for something for a change] causing the swelling in the nodes]. So after two rounds of chemo (second was stopped because it was doing truly horrible things to me), and an exciting double surgery (two teams working at once to remove the lump in my breast and my suspect ovaries - yay no more fucking ovaries)... there is now ZERO, yes I said ZERO sign of living cancer cells in my body. I still get to have the radiation and the prophylactic ongoing pills as a *precaution*, and because my odds of getting cancer for a second time are rather higher than for the first. Because fuck you cancer.
Anyway the point of this entry is to thank an AWFUL LOT OF PEOPLE. Friends, you all know who you are - though I will thank one person in particular for having been there every step of the way, with jokes, gifs, a virtual handhold and all manner of things to take my mind off the impending doom of it all. Family, obviously. My daughter above all, who has stood beside me while I had all manner of things poked into me, has acted as nurse, therapist and confidant and of course offered me nothing but love through it all. Kitty you are the pride of my life, I have made nothing better than you.
You guys have all been amazing from the little things to the big. The help when I couldn't do things for myself, the ongoing abuse Declan kept up no matter how bad things were - I love you bitch. The cleaning my house when The Girl could have been but was struggling with all the shit too (Carolyn that means you!) Mowing my lawn, and thus tolerating my douchenozzle neighbour. Marsden how you didn't lose it that first time you met him I have no idea. ALL THE TEA AND COLOURING IN BOOKS.
Then this odd assortment of charming celebrities who have literally no reason to give any kind of a damn and yet provided small doses of support that helped in moments when I really needed it. Of these, two stand out: John Barrowman for aiding and abetting in this photo taken at Melbourne Comic Con...
... which has given me no end of amusement, and for generally being extremely lovely.
And Samuel Anderson, who we met at Wellington Armageddon and then stalked over to Melbourne Comic Con, we went out on the piss in Wellington - and the rest of the story is redacted. No ones clothes came off as far as I am aware, that is all...
|Mr Pink. Samuel Anderson.|
There were others...
|Natalia Tena bought us drinks|
|Lovely conversation with David Giuntoli|
|The utterly charming Rose McIver, who we also stalked from Wellington to Melbourne|
|Manu Bennett, who we actually met before my diagnosis - but his stories of his own battles were a source of strength for me.|
And a special thanks to our own lovely John J Campbell, journalist and all around good guy - though we have never met, you have had so many kind words for me and shared hoorays for the All Blacks and the Black Caps, and wordplay, and just the joy of watching you stand up for the little guy so many times. You're a good bloke JC.
|That cleft chin though. Marvellous.|
And now to the two people who have consistently been there when I needed a hand up.
My dear Imaginary Friend, who I hope to make a bit less Imaginary as a part of our FUCK YOU CANCER tour of the Americas. Paul Blackthorne, Actor, Photographer, lover of alive animals. Whose matching sense of humour and kindness has been a terrific support to me. You are well and thoroughly imbedded in my heart now. More fool you.
|Quite clearly my kind of dickhead.|
He has immaculate timing with his missives, always when I most needed a pick me up. Also he has excellent taste in terrible jokes.
And finally, but most of all, my endless gratitude to my dear and beloved Matt Davie, for keeping in touch all the time. For sending outstanding tea. For making me laugh. For being as misanthropic and cynical as I am. For holding my hand from far too far away. For making me go get my teeth repaired. You were right, it did make me feel better. For talking through all sorts of medical crap that I was thinking about... but didn't want to talk about... but needed to. For being mad about things on my behalf, saving me from having to be pissed off when I didn't have the energy. For understanding what an utter fucking muppet I am, and still liking me anyway. Just. Everything. You were always there when I needed you, I will always be there for you. Dick.
Basically what I'm trying to say here is, I love all you nerds. And you have all helped to save my life. Victory is ours.