Picture the scene.
I am sitting in bed, languishing from post-theatre sleepiness. I’m holding my arm because the canula has just been removed and blood has basically pissed up the side of the wall.
Pete is sat beside me, eyeing up my chocolate crispy flakes.
All of a sudden Dr Powell appears.
Dr.P: Hello you, er, you ok?
Fran: Yea, I like to be dramatic. It’s a momentous day.
Dr.P: Look, it all went really well today. You finished your last 1/3 of this. A major chunk.
We’ve had a look and, well it’s shrunk. It’s shrunk massively. It’s looks really good.
Fran: *wibbly lip*
Dr.P: It’s responded so well to treatment.
Fran: *massive tears start to fall, more wibbly lip*
Dr.P: You’ve done so well.
Fran: Oh god, you’re not lying. It’s gone really well hasn’t it. *sobs*
Dr.P: *looks away* Now stop it or I’ll cry
Fran: *full on floods of tears* Thank you, thank you so so much
Peter: *Fat ugly tears* Thank you Dr. Powell
Dr.P: You are so welcome. Now, we’ll see you in 4 weeks, it’ll probably show abnormality still, but the radiotherapy is still working. We’ll scan you in three months and take it from there. *wipes tear*. Ok, get home now.
Fran: I can’t thank you enough.
So there we are. Fuckwit is really going.
I can hardly believe it.
I am beating this. I am physical proof that it’s going.