Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Does A Tumour Need An Identity?

First of all I feel that I should begin by thanking everyone that has messaged me/shared this blog over the last couple of days. I decided to use this mainly as a way to get information out to those who had been asking without being that guy that makes Facebook all serious and deep. In the day since I posted my status I have had thousands of views, dozens of shares on both FB and Twitter and so many messages of support I don't know where to begin thanking people. I am not the most emotional of guys, but have to admit it really touched me that so many people felt what I had to say was worth reading and sharing. So in response to that I will be trying to update this blog daily if possible, as long as I have something remotely interesting to say that is.

So, I continue from where I left off.

Tuesday, as you may have read, I was confirmed to have brain cancer. On the up side I was also told that I should continue with business as usual as much as possible. Which for me meant attending the highlight event of the Maesteg Social Calendar: Wetherspoons' Opening Night.

A group of us had already planned to go along and attempt to get some food there as well as a few drinks, so we continued with the (admittedly ambitious) plan and headed there for 7pm. Unsurprisingly we weren't able to get a table for food, so after marvelling at the splendour of the venue and wondering exactly how many weeks this place would manage look this good we left to go down the road for a curry.

Now, this is a paragraph that some may wish to skip, as it mainly involves the potential impact of general anaesthetic on the digestive system. So if you've just sat down to a large plate of food I'd recommend skipping ahead. For those of you still with me, it is at this point I feel I should mention how the paralysis of my digestive system caused by the anaesthetic had meant zero bowel movement for over a week at this point. No amount of tablet, drink or remedy had been having the slightest effect. Until, that is, we decided to have a meal at Momtaj. I won't go into masses of detail regarding the after effects of that particular Tikka Masala and the events that transpired in the back room of Momtaj, but suffice it to say that I am thinking about penning a letter to the NHS recommending that all prescriptions for laxatives be replaced with vouchers for curry and lager, effective immediately.

Feeling considerably lighter on my feet we finished off our food and headed back to the 'spoons for a few more drinks. The next couple of hours we spent drinking and laughing with everyone mercilessly ripping into one another. This being the third time we have managed to have a good night together as a group recently, a massive achievement for potentially the least organised group of people ever when it comes to making plans.

At one point it was decided that my tumour was in need of a name. After much deliberation the group settled on Timmy the Tumour, to be pronounced a la South Park (below for anyone unfamiliar). With this settled and numerous beverages consumed we all headed home, me to sleep until I felt fit, and everyone else to get up bright and early for work. At least I was winning in one way!






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