Take these sweats away from me…

If you get the line, I’ll be slightly impressed. It’s been rolling around in my brain for a couple of weeks and I just had to write it down. I must say I prefer PSB over EW any day, although I’d forgotten just how sickeningly sugary-sweet Patsy’s vocals are.

But the sweats that are hounding me have no semblance to that tune, more another (slight) complaint.

I have a skin disorder called prurigo nodularis. As with most of my diagnoses, no-one knows where it came from, it’s hard to treat and will never go away. I’ve had it all my life and only recently was I sent to a specialist who actually looked at my lesions, gave me a proper diagnosis and treatment suggestions. These include showering no more than twice a week, drinking loads of water and using great amounts of ACO Miniderm lotion which I buy in Sweden, cos 500g costs less there than 100g in Norway.

But the combination of night sweats and not showering if I’m off to meet someone – that’s not happening. Being drenched with sweat every single night means that if I have appointments five days one week, I need to shower five days that week – and it only took two weeks of three showers to send my prurigo into a hissy fit.

So, we’re back to massive amounts of moisturizer and the bed covers are now drenched in sweat and lotion. And cat hair. Yummy.

Why cry when you can laugh?

I know some people think I’m odd and weird and crazy, for being all smiley for such a sh*tty diagnosis.

Truth is – how I really feel doesn’t really matter, does it? I have cancer. There’s no easy way to say it. I had a gigantic tumour in my tit. It was 8.5 * 7.5 cm – in comparison, the International Tennis Federation (ITF) defines the official diameter (of a tennis ball) as 6.54–6.86 cm (2.57–2.70 inches). It’s not something I can throw away or get rid of. I don’t have a choice in the matter.

I was lucky. My tumour is new. It hasn’t spread and is responding extremely well to treatment. But it’s a sh*tty kind of cancer, I have surgery and years of medication ahead of me, and I have no guarantees that I won’t get metastatic cancer in a year or ten.

I also have muscular dystrophy and osteoarthritis in my lower back. This means that I will never have a functioning body.

It would be a lot easier for me to just give up.

I’m not a quitter. I’m a survivor. My way of surviving this is to laugh and smile and be happy – cos if I start crying, I wouldn’t have the strength to stop. Besides, that’s not going to help anyone, least of all me. I refuse to feel sorry for myself. I refuse to be a sulking, complaining b*tch (apart from when I haven’t slept properly cos of hot flashes during the night).

My choice – to be still smiling.