What does cancer feel like?

That’s a great question.

Well, cancer doesn’t feel great.

It’s like making plans with a really cute girl, and then it starts raining so you have to change your plans from a picnic to a movie, then right before you leave home you rip your trousers on a loose nail and the bus to the cinema is running late, and when you finally get on the bus you sit in gum, and by the time you get there the movie you want to see is sold out so you buy tickets for a different session, but they only have seats right down the front, and your date texts you to say she’s running half an hour late but asks if you can grab her some extra buttery popcorn, but when you get to the front of the line to pay you look in your pocket and realise you have cancer.

That’s what cancer feels  like.

What does chemotherapy feel like?

That’s another great question.

You are on fire today.

Well chemo isn’t great either. It’s like the world’s worst hangover only you don’t have any fun memories from the night before to make it worthwhile.

And sure, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to have someone touch your balls at one point but only because you complained they were sore and they’re checking for lumps.

Also everything tastes like cardboard so there goes the small joy of eating your favourite meal.

Unless your favourite meal is, by some miracle, cardboard. In which case you are actually in luck.

Your body has no energy either. Like, none. Like, cannot move without being in pain level of energy. It’s sort of like you binge watched your favourite show on Netflix and all your muscles are too weak to move after you became one with the couch.

Only instead of watching your favourite shows you were watching the world pass you by outside your window.

And if you like vomiting then you are in luck because you are going to do A LOT of that.

On the plus side, you might lose a few kilos because of all that vomiting so that beach body is going to look shredded.


How did it feel to fight cancer?

People always use the expression ‘fighting cancer’.

Yeah that’s appropriate sometimes. In the same way Mike Tyson belting the shit out of an unconscious man is a fight.

I didn’t really have many tools at my disposal to fight back. So I’m not sure if I feel that expression describes what I went through.

I didn’t fight cancer as much as I wore it out.

Every time it came creeping into my room, like a dog that shit on the floor and knows its done something bad, I wasn’t there to take the brunt of its angry rage.

I was laughing my with my Dad. Or crying with my Mum.

Even when I was on my own, I was never actually on my own. Because my friends were texting me or my Doctors were checking in on me or my brothers were visiting me or I was just off in my own head dreaming of a better time.

After a while, cancer just kind of fucked off because it was sick of never having the lonely, vulnerable little boy it thought it would find.

I think cancer is weak like that. It sneaks in when you least expect it and looms over you like a schoolyard bully. It wants nothing more than to make you cower in fear and roll into a little ball.

And that’s not to say you can’t feel weak or get sad when you have cancer. I sure did. A whole hell of a lot. I was probably in tears more often than not. But as long as one, small, minuscule piece of you holds hope, then you’ll never be giving in the way cancer wants you too.

So, I didn’t fight cancer.

It fought me.

And say what you will about his track record vs mine.

But only one of us is still here writing self-indulgent blogs so who’s the real winner?

(It’s you, you get to enjoy all this sparkling content, you’re the real winner).