Blog Virgin

I don't even have a twitter account. How can I manage to blog? Is that even a verb? To Blog!  I will write a bit, see what happens.

   Hello.
My name is Charlie.
I have cancer.
It's been one minute and twenty three seconds since I last thought about my cancer.

I've named it Fred. It lives in my breast and overnight it has changed my world.
At 28, I think about lots of things, work, friends, family, my boyfriend, holidays, fun, travel, sex, money, drugs, rock and roll; the usual. Not about cancer, sickness, chemotherapy, infertility, osteoporosis, positive, negative, tamoxofin; what do these words even mean. They are non existent in my vocabulary. Until almost three weeks ago.

I knew things were bad when the smiling nurse led my through the corridor passed the rooms, marked numbers 1 to 12, where the women seemed to be ferried in and out, at a constant consistent pace. Down the corridor.  Hang on a second - why am I going down the corridor?  Nursey saying something akin to outpatient small talk, something about the weather. I don't give a rats ass about the weather...why are we going further down the corridor, away from rooms 1 - 12.....?

When she opened the door and I saw the consultant and the single shiny posture torturous chair, the innocent lone box of tissues, one fresh white sheet of soft paper peaking from the box, I thought to myself; HOLY SHIT. A box of Kleenex. I think I'm in trouble.

Nine.
Six.

My day seemed to be filling up with numbers. 96% certain of cancer cells in a tiny needle which they had stuck in to my breast. That still leaves four percent right, four percent unaccounted for.

Perhaps they made a mistake?

They could have made a mistake.



They didn't.

I have cancer. But don't be ridiculous. I can't possibly have cancer.  Can I?