Terminal Velocity

Terminal velocity

Terminal? What? As in airport or a turn of phrase or a bloody death sentence? 

Terminal is not something I associate with myself. No. I'm not a dried up haggard old prune, melting in a bedsit somewhere. I'm bloody here, and I don't feel ill at all and I do bloody yoga for Christ sake!

Of course I didn't actually say this but I bloody well thought it, whilst pointing my head forward at the Oncologist, very hard indeed!!

Terminal? Have you ever thought about what that means? No me neither and I wasn't about to bloody start now I can tell thee! 

So, yes you might be terminal blah blah bollocks blah in which case there's no point in chemotherapy as it won't do fuck all. So saddle up and wait two weeks while we work it out. We can give you drugs to prolong your life though but you won't be in the curable bracket. So we will see you in two weeks. 

We, (Scouse and I) walk out of the room in a daze. Typically there's a women in a massive fuck off pink wig sat in the waiting room. Oh god, the pink is upon me, get me the hell out of dodge. I'm worried we may encounter a bloody tutu in the lift so we take the stairs. No tutus here, just a strong smell of human nerves and I swear a blood stain on the floor. Probably some poor sod whose bled out their last sense of control.

Anyway, we walk up the hill to the NCP and get in the car. It's a bit quiet. He doesn't talk, I don't talk. We've established no ones talking. It's awkward. Someone say something. Then I think of something to say. It's really sad, it's gut wrenching and extremely sickening. A lump forms in my throat as I turn to him and say "oh bollocks. We're guna have to get married!"

We both feel physically sick as the reality dawns on us that this is what may happen. This can't be happening. It's so fucking unfair. We are too young. We have our whole lives ahead of us. How can the world be so cruel? I can't stand the lack of control and the uncertainty of what this spells for my life. It's as if I'm walking into a jail cell and someone is slamming the shitty doors behind me and stuffing the key up their rectum. I've got two young children and I'm pregnant!!! I'd look awful in a wedding dress! 

We go home. He eats dinner. I don't. (This in itself is a miracle as I bloody love my food). We sit on the couch. I cry at how unfair life is. In fact I scream bloody murder into my hands. I go cold. I feel numb. I want to rip my tits off and through them out the window but I fear for the health and safety of the passers,  by so I refrain. 

We go to bed and he starts bloody snoring the selfish twat. How can you snore at a time like this? Maybe it's the sound of him crying in his sleep, bless him. I get up and wonder around in the dark. I go to my baby's room first, potato. He's grunting away, he does a little fart. I love his farts. I'd miss them. I shut the door and I go to Nojees room. He is asleep on his double bed, (this bloody kid doesn't do singles), he's width ways and I straightened him out a climb in next too him. His breath hits my face, clearly this kid had garlic and a nappy for dinner, but it smells wonderful to me. I kiss him as Dracula would kiss a garlic bulb, and I snuggle up to him. 

I imagine lying in a hospital bed and I wonder... How the fuck does a mother say good bye to her children? Especially when they'd be too young to remember her?

Then another tear roles down my cheek and into my bloody ear!!! Well I'm fucked if that's happening to me so you can kiss my hairy Bristolian ass!!!!! 

You've picked on the wrong norks! 

EAT SHIT VOLDERTIT!