Fast forward the best part of a month from the last post, and my biopsy had been fully analysed and my diagnosis confirmed: Ewing Sarcoma. Things happened in such a blur that I forget what exactly happened, but the impending chemotherapy prompted an emergency haircut, and I was rushed to Southampton General, for the first time feeling genuinely ill as a direct result of the cancer.
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- Me on arrival at SGH. Possibly at Clic Sargent. Feeling like absolute shit.
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- Here I was either recovering from the surgery or awaiting the surgery that would put the central line in, which was the tube that served as a direct line into my chest, through which they could deliver chemo and other stuff.
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- One of the machines that would become the bane of my life.
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- Hair hadn’t fallen out yet, but pretty sure I was having my first chemo session at this point.
