Cancer Really Isn't Hilarious

Oh, cancer, so much to answer for.  I feel grim griminy today.  The new boob to be has settled and is uncomfortable rather than out and out painful.  But I just feel wrung out.  I thought cancer would be, not a breeze, but certainly once you hear the words "it hasn't spread to the lymph nodes" you think that's it.  Game over.  I have won.  Eighteen months down the line and it's still ruling my life.  I think in some way it's my own fault for being so glib about it.  I hitched a backy on the devil's Raleigh Chopper and rode around stickin V's up and blowing raspberries at cancer and now I'm 'paying' for it.  The extreme fatigue, the struggle to work full time, the side effects of the medication, the psychological effects, the surgery, the endless hospital appointments, the fertility question...and on and on.  The road from first symptoms to being 'cancer free' is laden with potholes, dog s**t and strange and frightening people lurking by the roadside.  And you get to the point where you feel people lose interest.  Like, you've had your diagnosis and most of your treatment so you should be full of the joys of spring and getting on with your life...you're one of the 'lucky' ones...and every time I read a celeb piece where they've 'bravely' battled the big C and have had an epiphany and know now that life is for living and you should live every day as if it's your last and yada yada, I feel sick and empty.  Like deep down that should be me if only I didn't feel so SH1T.  Bah.  I *should* be positive; I *should* be trekking up a mountain somewhere wearing pink; I *should* be grateful.  I'm not one for self-pity, I'm not a negative person, so all this is incredibly draining and alien.  Maybe I'll feel differently next week.  Maybe I should count my blessings.  Woulda shoulda coulda.  Or maybe I should hide under my duvet with a million menthol cigarettes and a bottle of my choice of alcoholic beverage and ask someone to wake me up when this is all over.