The next few weeks were, shockingly pretty uneventful. My days became a predictable little routine: wake up, take meds, lounge about like a Victorian lady with “nerves,” feel a bit crap but nothing dramatic. Then off to the radiotherapy spa for my daily mask-and-internal-screaming session. Home. Sleep. Repeat. Groundhog Day but with more pharmaceuticals.

Then 2 weeks later I started feeling… not great. More than not great, actually—properly ropey. Mama Bear hadn’t mentioned this particular twist, but given she forgot to warn me about pancreatitis, I decided not to judge.

By Saturday I felt like I was coming down with the flu. By Sunday I felt drunk, dizzy, and unsteady on my feet. I couldn’t concentrate, I was shivering like someone living inside a fridge, and I was eating basically nothing because my body had decided to return every single thing including water AND toothpaste. That takes talent.

The coughing had started to get worse too. Proper hacking, with bonus blood in the phlegm for added drama. They’d given me a nebuliser to help clear my throat, and while it worked, it also made me sound like a dying chimney sweep.

On Monday I dragged myself to the spa session and asked to see a nurse. Enter The Other Oracle, who took my temperature, raised her eyebrows so high they nearly left her face, and immediately phoned ahead to warn the ward I was coming.

If you had pneumonia on your medical bingo card: congratulations, you can now dab that square. My temperature was in the 40s, and I could barely lift my head off the pillow.

Now, you might have realised from this blog that I’m a fairly upbeat person. But this? This was the moment I hit rock bottom. (Edit: this would turn out to be Rock Bottom #1 of several. Lucky me.) I lay there thinking, “Why me? I’m a nice person! Okay, sure, there are a few people I happily bitch about or slap into next Tuesday but, generally, I am one of the GOOD ones.” How on earth was I supposed to get through this when I was only halfway through?

The Rock, bless his delusional optimism, said, “Things can’t get much worse.” Lies. Absolute lies. But we’ll get to that.

LESSON 14: IT’S EASY TO SAY THIS WITH HINDSIGHT, BUT SOME DAYS ARE JUST GOING TO BE AWFUL. AND THAT’S OK. IT’S OK TO HAVE A WEE SNOTTY CRY INTO YOUR PILLOW. IT’S OK JUST TO SIT QUIETLY WITH THE ROCK. IT’S OK NOT TO HAVE TO EXPLAIN EVERY TINY FEELING YOU’RE HAVING. IT’S OK. JUST DON’T LET EVERY DAY TURN INTO ONE OF THOSE DAYS.