My arse is cancer-free!

I thought I'd write a quick post to wrap up the series on anal cancer. I realise I've given a big old spoiler with that title, but most of you reading this will already know I've been given the all-clear.

When the oncologist told me, I felt like I'd lost 12 stone (and I was only 7 stone 4 to start with). Allow me to depict my sense of relief through the medium of gif:

via GIPHY


It's been a strange old time though. After breezing through chemoradiotherapy in ridiculously high spirits, I started feeling low about a month after treatment ended. Going to the bog no longer felt like passing hot coals, and my undercarriage was no longer sporting blisters. But I was knackered all the time (even more than usual) and my brain felt like candy floss. I got frustrated. I wanted my life back.

I'm still knackered all the time. My brain still feels like candy floss. I still want my life back.

I'd also forgotten that, horrible as it is to have a serious illness, it doesn't half give you a sense of purpose. Since I found out the treatment was successful, I've felt enormously relieved (see gif, above), but also quite a lot like this guy:

I'm glad I don't have to run any more, but MY ROAD HAS GONE!

In short, I'm grateful to the doctors and delighted that I'm cured, but also feeling exhausted and, well, a bit rudderless.

This too shall pass, as the wise ones say. Or, as I say, you'll survive everything till you don't. And I've survived this, so screw you, anal cancer. And thank you to everyone who's followed my story on this blog.