Revelations.

Right then, first thing on the agenda is to at least acknowledge articulate panda's (aka MY BESTEST BUDDY ANDY) birthday today. If general life musings and thoughts on the modern media world float your boat, then you should click this juicy link to check out his blog.

http://andrewchrysostom.blogspot.com

Don't be fooled by his 23 years though, his immaturity knows no bounds.

Now then, it's been three weeks since my last update, and honestly it hasn't been the greatest experience of my life. Massive tiredness, aching joints, hospital trips, painful teeth, vital organs showing little enthusiasm to do their jobs. So on, so forth. Up until today I was starting to get into that whole mentality of 'oh why did this have to happen to meeeee.' I mean, not to brag or anything, but I've gone through quite a great deal these past few weeks. It's been... tricky. Emotionally exhausting. Physically testing. You get the idea. With all this in mind, it was very easy to fall into a thought process of dismissing everything as not fair and believing that the whole world is up against you.

Like I said, this all changed today. I don't want to throw out names or type out paragraphs of condolences as quite frankly, it'd be a bit strange for me to do so, but today I discovered (quite accidentally I might add) that a girl on my course at uni died not too long ago of... cancer. Now let's not kid ourselves, people pass away because of cancer on a daily basis. It's a horrible disease and in some forms can be absolutely devastating. But today I couldn't help but think of the phrase 'why me' in a completely different light. Why am I the lucky one who has such a good chance of overcoming my condition? Why am I the lucky one who gets the opportunity to write a blog about the whole thing? Why am I the lucky one who gets to see this whole ordeal as the moment before the rest of my life? There's no denying that for me, things have been hard. But for others cancer is incredibly more difficult, and can not only poison the life it takes hold of, but destroy the lives around it too.

I saw myself as a bit of a selfish arse this morning. Yet I'm all for redemption. From now on, it's thinking positively all the way. I owe it to the people who don't make it as far as I have. As Greybeard has said so many times, I'm lucky to have come this far so quickly.

I also want to start doing some charity work, maybe after I make a full recovery. Anyone know of any good fundraising ideas? Let me know.

Big (awkward) love.

Ryan.

The trouble with chemo.

My palms planted firmly on the bathroom floor, my head hovering back and forth over the toilet bowl like Psycho Mantis, my exhausted eyes reflecting back at me from the water. I'm tired, achy, haggard, yet I still manage to inspire fierce concentration in trying to overcome these feelings of nausea. All is for nothing though. The bright glow of the bathroom light pierces my absorption, the stomach muscles spasm sporadically and, realising I'm now completely at the mercy of whatever power regulates this universe, I vomit unceremoniously into the toilet below.

My main thought is how strange an act this is when you're sober.

Side effects can be horrid. This is one of them. Now I'm no stranger to puking into your toilet with all sense of dignity or class in tatters, yet it's not something I want to be going through on what's in danger of becoming a daily basis. Not to mention I'm at such big a risk of infection (OH GOD will he stop going on about that!) So I'm going to try this new tactic I've come up with which involves not eating anything. When this spectacularly fails (I give it an hour) then I guess I should tell the doctors and see if they can change my anti-sickness medication. Logic prevails.

I'm also reeling after seeing my hair grow back uneven and well, not as full as I was first anticipating. All I want is hair. We humans really do take it for granted, unless you're a weirdo who shaves it off out of choice. No offense or anything but... weirdo. Anyway, I love having hair more than Charlie Sheen loves his given namesake and I really do wish this chemotherapy nonsense doesn't piss around with it too much. If you could see me now you'd think I'd been attacked by a crackhead with a razor but I'm so socially unaware that I have no desire or energy to shave the rest off. What? Sense? None made. IT'S PATCHY IS WHAT I'M SAYING. I'm not keen for this at all.

But oh well, I'll always have more hair than my friend George. I hope he reads this.

Much love.

Ryan.