Something they tell you, repeatedly, is that the effects don’t stop when treatment stops. That would be far too easy. Instead, you’re informed (with suspicious cheerfulness) that things will actually get worse for a few weeks afterwards. Such fun.

Apparently, and I quote: “You’re still cooking for a few weeks.”. Personally, I’d have preferred to be medium rare. Maybe a nice pink in the middle. Instead, I emerged somewhere between well done and black.

Mornings became bleak. The Rock made a long, terrifying list of meds: first thing meds, mid-morning meds, lunch, mid-afternoon, teatime, mid-evening, bedtime. He laid them all out next to my daily food bag like some sort of pharmaceutical tapas. At the beginning, I was on 30+ tablets a day. Every single one had to be crushed, mixed with water, syringed into the tube, then the tube flushed. Over and over. It took about 45 minutes to do the full routine, including hooking up the travelling food machine. Mega boring. Zero glamour.

They told me I’d be tired. Running a marathon makes you tired. This wipes you off the face of the earth. I was sleeping up to 20 hours a day. Not gentle naps on the sofa either. Proper deep, can’t-wake-me-with-a-brass-band sleeps. Life shrank down to three core activities:

  1. Shove things down the tube.
  2. Sleep.
  3. Judge Judy.

I did eventually manage to get out for short walks. At first it was just to Kelvingrove Park at the end of the road, sit on a bench, then shuffle back again. I felt like a complete muppet shuffling down the street like a very tired octogenarian, tube dangling out of my nose and taped across my face. But hey, I was outside. Fresh air! Trees! Other humans! Life was still crap, but at least it was crap in sunshine.

The tape that holds the tube to my face starts peeling after a few days, so Wonder Nurse at my local GP has been replacing it for me. I love Wonder Nurse. The inside of my throat may be quietly dissolving, but I fully intend to look fabulous while it happens. Meanwhile, the weight keeps falling off and none of my clothes fit. Every day is a surprise in the “which trousers will fall down today?” game. Our dear friend, Papa Pedro also plays that game but with very different rules.

LESSON 19: BE PREPARED TO SLEEP LIKE A BABY (A DRUNK, JET-LAGGED BABY) FOR 2-4 WEEKS. FIND A PROGRAMME YOU CAN DRIFT IN AND OUT OF. JUDGE JUDY WAS PERFECT FOR THAT. I LOVE JUDGE JUDY.

LESSON 20: YOU’LL HAVE NO ENERGY AND MAYBE A TUBE HANGING OUT OF YOUR FACE AND YOU’LL FEEL LIKE A SIDE CHARACTER IN A TRAGIC EPISODE OF CASUALTY BUT GET OUT THERE. EVEN A TINY WALK. A WEE BIT MORE EACH DAY QUICKLY ADDS UP.