a lot of wet Kleenex

I have cried more often in the last 3 weeks than in the entire 3 months of chemo. Ridiculous. If I came across anyone else sniffling so much I'd smack them and tell them to bloody well man up - but when I cry I call it a mini-nervous breakdown. The reason for all this wet Kleenex is the sheer FRUSTRATION of it all. My diagnosis and chemo - while not a barrel of laughs - were very efficient and well organised, so no vexation on this level occurred. I knew what was coming and got my head down and got through it. Now I find myself on the other side, chewing my fingernails for radiotherapy to start in Nottingham. The waiting and not being able to do anything is really rather unbearable. Not even food is keeping me calm (though the sushi did work pretty well).

Today Mother and I went in to see a Nottingham radiologist. While very pleasant, he turned out to be an oncologist instead - who would need to refer me to radiology. It transpired that I could expect to be contacted by some radiologists within two weeks, and would then need to visit a couple of times for planning radiotherapy (i.e. some scans?? not really sure what this entails) before starting. This puts us well into August before treatment even starts, which in turn means that I might not be finished by 1st September (which is when I'm supposed to restart third year). Ugh. The novelty has well and truly worn off by now; I want to get back to being your regular coeliac deafy without the additional cancer glamour.

With this hazy treatment timetable in mind, I crawled back to Newcastle radiology begging them to take me back, and - bless them - they welcomed me with open arms. I have a planning scan at 3pm tomorrow and should be able to start treatment next week. Wow.

I really should have revealed this fantastic turnaround in my fortunes slightly earlier on, but I wanted to make you experience a small fraction of my frustration first.

One thing I did learn today is that a negative PET isn't exactly the same as being cancer-free. It just means you haven't got any LUMPS of cancer (bigger than 6-7 mm) that show up. This, though mildly alarming, is at least some motivation to have radiotherapy. I was however rather pleased to learn that Hodgkin's survivors of my age and stage who are treated by chemotherapy and radiotherapy then go on to have a greater life expectancy than the average for England and Wales, because they don't smoke and they look after themselves well. See? Cancer is actually good for you.

I return to the Northeast tomorrow. Fun times ahead - my social activities are mainly planned around subtitled screenings of Harry Potter (markedly better in Newcastle than Nottingham. Must the Northeast prove to be superior in all areas of my life!?!?) Giggedy!!