Well, I've just discovered that I am 'My Little Rainbow Pony.'
No, I'm not off my face on roids, I haven't yet grown a tale, but boy can I pee in amazing ways!!!
I my friends, can now piss a rainbow!!
I have started my chemotherapy and the one I'm having to keep chocolate mousse on the big slide towards the birth canal is called 'RED DEVIL'. ( nods to medical nerds..... Adriamycin and Cyclophosphamide.....salutes to fellow chemo chums AC dude....waves to my mother....Chemo. Right that covers you all)
So as the name suggests, it's red. My chemo is received via a pic line in my left arm. This is a permanent tube thing that dangles out of the mother of all veins just above the arm crease and has a line that comes up your arm and right into your body. I sit in a chair for just 30 minutes in a ward full of people who are three times my age and at varying levels of decay, whilst a nurse squeezes syringes of red juice into my arm. It doesn't hurt at all, it's by far more painful having a front row seat for the rehearsals of The Walking Dead.
Anyway, my wee. The first trip to the bog post chemo is a very fierce and angry stream of bright red. 'Oh my god, I've cut my foof on something!!!!!'
How? I've stopped wearing cheese wire thongs in favour of Bridget Jones knickers ages ago. Maybe I pulled the zip down too quickly? Maybe I accidentally snipped a flap when I last trimmed.....oh that can't be it.....that was around the time Columbus discovered America. Best go and tell someone.
"Oh that's the chemo dear, just one of the interesting side effects. You'll get all sorts.
Funnily enough we have green and blue chemo too. Does the same thing."
I smile and remember all my uni nights chucking back blue WKD and getting excited about the wee that would await me the next day. It never disappointed.
So through the course of the next few days the rainbow continued. After the red incident it was the Breast Cancer Mascot....pink! Now you know I hate pink so this pissed me off. It's everywhere I look. In wigs in the oncology waiting rooms, running the London Marathon in the form of tutus, on all the friggin cancer leaflets and now it's in my toilet!!! Oh you've got breast cancer.....have some pink wee in sympathy. Oh Flush right off!!!!
Then it was orange. Now this was handy as I went down and added several things to my shopping list. Satsumas, lucozade and ginger biscuits. That's a Voldertit victory right there.
It also reminded me to drink more. And of that disgusting time I saw rugby boys drink pints of the stuff in some kind of 'penis-off'. This is a breed of human I'll never understand.
Then there was yellow. Oh how I'd missed yellow. Yellow is normal. Yellow is sunny and reassuring. Yellow means a closing of a chapter and the progression of the treatment. It also meant I didn't have to keep hearing "Mummy why is your wee like that" everytime I nipped to the bathroom. Also, that reminds me, can someone please let me in on how one ever gets to wee or poo without an audience when they have kids? I can't have a lock on the door as I don't trust myself not to hide there when the kids are stamping on each other's heads. I feel fairly certain I would never reopen the door. Which also reminds me that I should keep vodka in the bathroom.
I digress. Weemo is one of the very interesting side effects I am experiencing. That and the invasion of my everyday language. Not only have I started swearing a lot more, i actually ordered 'drug-bread' at the curry house the other night.
Waiter: Onion Bhajee please, Lamb Rogan and pilau rice. Any bread?
Me: oh yes. I'll have a chemo-Nan please.
Waiter: very good.
And there I was....transported back to the Oncology ward looking at all the old Chemo Nan's wondering around in their pink rinse wigs or pirate bandanas.
So I went straight home and tried to lock myself in the bathroom.
"Mummy I need a pooh"
"Sod off. Mummy's drinking Vodka"