About those non-existent blisters...

Last week began splendidly, with a gift from one of my cousins.

Yes, I know it needs a wipe

I enjoy drinking from this. It makes me feel like I'm some sort of hero simply for attending hospital and lying on a gurney with my junk on display.

By 3am on Saturday morning, however, I was acting like a proper ninja, crawling round my house on my forearms and knees, in the dark. Walking from the bedroom to the bathroom was too painful. Which brings me to the title of this blog post. Those blisters for which I searched fruitlessly the other week were, it would seem, not non-existent at all, just undergoing a slow teleportation from The Dimension of  Blisters. In the middle of last week, they arrived en masse. My favourite was this one:

It's actually grown since I took this photo. It's started to move up my ankle. My oncologist thinks this is because the pressure I put on it while walking is forcing the lymph upwards. I have a different theory: the blister has learned that, impressive as it is, there is a structure capable of holding legendary amounts of liquid just above the top of my leg, and it has decided to make a pilgrimage.

It was the combination of blisters and general foot pain that led to me slithering across the landing in the middle of the night.

I called the Cancer Centre's 24-hour hotline. They told me to stop taking the chemo tablets and invest in yet another cream.

I'm now able to hobble around with a single crutch. When I saw my oncologist today, she was pleased about this, but still classified me as having Grade 3 hand-foot syndrome. Apparently, Grade 3 is as high as it goes. I thought the oncologist said it went up to Grade 4, which made me gape.  GRADE 4? I pictured someone with water balloons for feet, bouncing down the road, praying for them not to pop.

I put my mistaken belief / mishearing down to fatigue. Not that I'm getting muddled or anything, but when the receptionist asked for my surname today, it took me a good five seconds to remember.

No, don't tell me - I know this one

For now, they're keeping me off the chemo, which is just as well, because the radiotherapy is producing unpleasant effects of its own in the underwear department. I'll save that for next time.