Its chemo session no.4 today.
I dropped the kids off at football - the 6 year old bounced in, dressed as Ronaldhino. The 9 year old walked in a little more reluctantly, dressed as Gerrard. They'd been out practising in the garden since 7.50am waking up the entire village with full loud speaker commentary on every kick of the ball.
I had a cry when I left them. I couldn't help it. And I cried when I dropped their bags off at my dad's house.
'I just don't want to go,' I sniffed. I felt like I was 13 years old again, about to have that bloody chemistry exam. The one when I got just 40%.
They gave me a cuddle, had a little cry too and sent me on my way. It's harder for them, and I wish I hadn't cried.
A cup of tea and a biscuit from the lovely nurses soon brought me round - not like that AAAWFUL bloody hospital in town. (the nurses have given me the name of the guy I need to write to, to request a grand piano, artwork, canopes, gin & tonics etc...and don't worry - he'll be told!)
25 million syringes of cack.
And then home.
So what do you do after a day like that?
You go bloody shopping - that's what you do. A few clicks of the mouse, and £165.95 later, I've got a few lovely items of clothing that'll probably not fit, but I don't care, I feel MUCH better!
AND, as a friend so rightly said in a text today - 'Bubble today, Bubbly next week...'