I’ll spare you too many details; I hope I still haven’t turned into the kind of patient who can only talk about his disease, but who’ll expatiate on that whenever given the slightest excuse for doing so. Neither do I see a point in turning this into a sort of “My fight with cancer” blog.
Suffice it to say that on Wednesday they inserted the PEG tube into my stomach, which wasn’t half as bad as I was afraid it would be (although getting used to it will take some time yet), and on Thursday and Friday I finally underwent my first two radiotherapy sessions (the mask still troubling me, but I guess in time I’ll get used to it as well). Also, my hospital roommates are apparently more bearable than the previous lot (in fact, probably more bearable than my neighbours), so there’s little to complain about.
That said, exhausting it is. Both the diagnostics and the curing tire one more than living with the tumour did. (And my parents are plaguing me with questions, while Tommy ignores me completely.) Then again, if I end up cured, it would be worth a lot of temporary inconvenience. Even though I’ve got precious little to look forward to in the future anyway.