Category Archives: Smut

Pregnancy Prevention Programme

Thalidomide comes with strict controls, especially for the ladies of childbearing years. I am one of those, especially now the fake menopause is ending. If you do not know why thalidomide requires a signatory, Google it. I do not need to Google it because yesterday I was given a very helpful pamphlet entitled ‘Pregnancy Prevention Programme’. If you do not know what that is about, then I will think you a simpleton.

Relax. I’m going to tell you anyway.

So, my new treatment, like the old one comes with regular pregnancy testing. Now, I understand why this is a requirement, but I am still traumatised by the sex chat I had with a senior Medical Trained Person on 22 August 2012 by my hospital bed. I remember the rules and I vaguely remember where my stash of nearing the sell by date condoms live. Did you know that a condom is barrier protection? Well, it is. Tell your kids.

I am used to the humiliation of being exposed to regular pregnancy tests, even though my treatment and My Myeloma means that I may never have children of my own. I assume though, that one must be subjected to such controls because there are stupid people in this world. One such control, which I had to sign yesterday was with regards to the birth control I was going to use whilst undergoing my treatment. It was great, because I was sitting a room with the nice, new, Medically Trained Person and Mamma Jones and when the question came, ‘what birth control method are you going to use?’ I had a quick conversation with myself, wondering how I was going to answer this question. The first point started, ‘well, there is this boy…’, but I shut that one down pretty quickly to ‘have you heard of unrequited love?. Again, I stopped it because nobody needs to be subjected to that. I then moved on to ‘well, I have cancer, my hair is non existent on my head and you just prescribed me a healthy dose of facial hair inducing steroids and I am in bed by 22:00hrs every night, so nobody is going to want to tap this anytime soon’. Again, I did not vocalise that one. Then, I thought ‘shit, my Mum is with me’., but I think she likes to be apart of these discussions, so I am sure it was fun for her. Fun for me on the other hand… We are very close now, my six year old niece made it so. To put an end to my puzzled look, at the Medically Trained Person’s suggestion, I opted for abstinence. At least then, I can say that is why I am not getting routine Special Cuddles. I wish I had this excuse before. I am not expecting a barrage of eligible bachelors taking pity on me anytime soon either. What is really good about all of this, is that if my circumstances change, I get to talk about it with the Medically Trained People. Thankfully, I am a fan of everybody knowing my business, so it’s just an extra person to text, should anybody realise that I am the Bees Knees in spite of My Myeloma. I mean, I am more mobile now.

I then got to pee into a jug, just to confirm that I had not gotten myself pregnant in the last seven days. I was not. Shock, horror. Relief.

And that was it. Well, until next month when I will have to pee into a cup, correction, jug (targeting issues) again, and then hold my breath for the negative because some people are not aware of personal responsibility. Sure, people make mistakes, but I have cancer, so I have to remember Rabin’s Rules. Well, if the time ever arose and I wasn’t a randy drunk, I’d remember Rabin’s Rules.

At least I thought that was it until Mamma Jones asked me the result of my pregnancy test again over lunch. The conversation went something along the lines of this…

MJ: What was the result of your pregnancy test?
EJB: Negative.
MJ: Phew, I thought it would just be Sods Law if you were pregnant. You know… It’s a possibility.
EJB: No it wasn’t. I am a grown up…. Anyway, they did a test last week…. Bloody Lara.
EJB: [uncomfortable embarrassment]

So all you 28 year olds… Try speaking to a parent about that.

It doesn’t matter anymore though does it. I am not a catch and I have taken a vow of abstinence. I hear that it is really fun.

EJB x

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Horn

At this current moment in time, I am sitting in the Supportive Care Unit (I might not actually be called a ‘Unit’, but it sounds more official) on the Haematology floor of the Macmillan Cancer Centre. This is the second time I have been treated up here, and I mean no disrespect to the people I saw for 25 weeks on the second floor, but the patients up here are far more attractive than the patients on the second floor. It’s a true story. I belong here.

I am not talking about about Hollywood looks, this is the real world where 28 year olds get cancer and you cannot fast forward to the happy ending, but there are one or two people who can be classed as being pleasant on the eye. Obviously, there is an old lady to my right, who I am sure in her youth, was a looker. There are two young men in my bay. When I say young, what I mean is under 50. One, apart from the fact he is wearing a distressed laced boot beneath his fitted jeans is very attractive. I strongly approve of the rest of his outfit. His Irish accent probably helps this and the fact he is reading a book. It’s always nice to know that a man can read. He has not noticed my presence, despite my attempts at drawing attention to myself by declaring that “I am a lady” to my nurse. There was a context to this, but it probably was not necessary and was for his benefit. He’d love me if he really knew me.

The other young male is sitting opposite. On second glance, beauty is not in the eye of the beholder in this instance, despite the fact he is in my age bracket. I am not turned off by the bag of blood attached to his semi permanent line. I am open to anything, but I am not really a fan off the fact he does not seem to be able to breathe with his mouth closed. He also keeps staring at my boobies and I do not think that is appropriate. I have a cannula sticking out my vein and I may or may not keep sucking my thumb forgetting that I am in public. Oh, I just heard his voice. Definitely, No.

If you are wondering why I am rating people by their attractiveness, it is because I am empty, vain and, erm, ripe. I continue to be ripe. I could sit here and tell you about how much I enjoyed having my echocardiogram on Monday, but that is not for now. Nobody needs to be privy to the crudeness that can exist inside my mind during this period of limbo. Nobody.

I am not yet a deviant. Phew. The handsome Irish man has now been replaced by an elderly gentleman wearing a sky blue jumper, black cords with a thread veined face and grey hair sweeping cross his naked crown. I can confirm that I do not fancy him.

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Randy

I believe there comes a point in all cancer patients’ journey when they begin to have urges. Adult urges. Maybe not all cancer patients, perhaps just the ones who are of the age and not yet terminal. Maybe when it is terminal you still get the urge, I do not know that yet. If one was to get the urge then, perhaps they would be up for trying a whole range of exciting things and experiences like, spooning. I suspect that in most cases, a break in treatment and an absence of drugs, is to blame for a reignited, erm… energy.

When such a circumstance arises, I do not think there is much an unattached myeloma patient can do about it. If you take away the issue of a lack of partner, even if the patient feels well, they still have the bone lesions to deal with. I read an article yesterday about a woman who became paralysed by a sneeze. Imagine the danger a little bit of bump’n’grind would put said patient in, or indeed, an unexpected release of pleasure. I suppose then, one can bring a whole new meaning to safe and follow the Macmillan guidance and stroke. (Light reading https://ejbones.wordpress.com/2012/11/29/sex-educatiaon/)

What is needed then, in this hypothetical situation is a Booty Hug, not a Booty Call, a Booty Hug. A term I was introduced to by a complete random last Sunday. A willing participant, who is content with a hug and no exchange of bodily fluids. Basically, a willing participant up for disappointment. Maybe literally.

Where does one find one? I suppose for some myeloma patients, if you have your heart set on a specifically individual out of your reach, like somebody in space, you are setting yourself up for failure and unnecessary torment. Escaping from this, I presume, would be quite difficult when you are housebound and the only new people you meet are Medically Trained People with a code of practise.

That’s it then. There is only one way to release this energy. By yourself. Stroking.

I am just so relieved that I have yet to find myself in this situation.

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A Hypothetical Conversation

WARNING – This blog contains graphic content and was overheard on the, erm, street.

Twenty something cancer patient: Come on, I couldn’t have sex at the moment. Look what I did to my rib last week bending over.

Twenty something cancer patient’s friend: [Pause] Well, he could always go down on you.

TSCP: [Laughs]

TSCPF: Come on, you’ve never been energetic in that area have you.

TSCP: [Raises voice] No. No. No. No. No. That is categorically not true. Remember when…

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Knight Of The Living Dead

It’s Day 5 of the Fifth PADIMAC Cycle. Look at my face. Look at it.

Do you fancy being my knight in shining armour? I’ll pay you back with really fun things in about six months if you just come to my rescue now… I’ll buy a book and ask for more radiotherapy to make it worth your while. Remember, I’ll be skinnier then too.

Sold?

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Sex Education

It is a well known fact that I am a Single Lady. I was a single lady before my diagnosis and I am a single lady after it. It’s probably for the best, if I was attached before my diagnosis, that person would be a bit of an arse if they dumped me when they found out that my body was a mess and I was going to go bald. Somedays I wished there was an actual significant other to help me sleep, comfort me during the dark times and who says night night. Sure, Housemate says goodnight and good morning, but I am not his type, and most the time it is through my bedroom door. I cannot see amour happening any time soon, for I do not go anywhere and let’s be honest, I have bigger fish to fry. For the day love does return to my life in a requited form, Macmillan Cancer Support have thoughtfully and kindly produced a leaflet. It is no laughing matter, okay?

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Unfortunately, there is not a chapter in here about Myeloma and living with bone lesions and a squishy spine. I assume, My Myeloma and me just have to read between the lines.

One thing this leaflet is keen to point out is that intimacy is important. Stroking. I think that was kind of a given, but it’s good to know that it is still important for those of us suffering from cancer. December is usually a good time of the year for me in this regard, but not this year. The Wan Birthday curse is over. I will just have to snuggle up to EMan (the teddy bear) and at least this year I also have my pregnancy pillow to recreate having another body in my bed. Perhaps I should purchase a hot water bottle.

I understand that is generally considered uncouth to discuss such things publicly, but I can do what I want. I have cancer. Dear Dad, do not read any further, you will not like it. Plus Macmillan Cancer Support think it is a good idea, and I do what they advise in most circumstances. Though I did stop myself from picking up the guidance on an early death yesterday, we are not there yet.

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So, let us start at the very beginning. Below are some useful tips for the Singles.

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Questionable fertility? Check. Reduced lifespan? Check. A change in body? Check. I’m a catch. I’m a catch! Is anybody interested? If you are, at least you know in all likelihood, you’ll be set free from the commitment by your 60s. Maybe not, there could be a miracle. The allogenic transplant can be a cure in some rare instances according to the gospel of Wikipedia.

If we can get by that hurdle, this considerate guidance is rather helpful. Do take note.

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This will clearly require a change in tack on my part.

I don’t want to make anybody take pity on me, but I think the third paragraph is noteworthy. I have interpreted it as therapeutic. I am pretty sure I could still produce a good snog when my mouth does not taste of tin. That’ll be next week by the way.

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That is it for now, there are more pages, but I have picked out the sections relevant to me.

As ever, I am pleased to me able to bring to you the realities of being a twenty something with cancer. Desperation.

EJB x

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Carpet

Somebody asked me when I started to lose my hair whether the process was limited to the hair on my head. I can now confirm that it is not. Patchy.

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If only the steroids did not cause the excess facial hair… Bring on the high dose. Maybe.

The realities of cancer treatment. It’s eye opening. Sorry lads.

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And Again. And Again.

Guess what I was asked today? Again.

I believe the question was out of courtesy only, because I still had to urinate into a cardboard bowl and transfer some of this into a plastic jar. It was delightful. I had to give my hands a good old scrub afterwards. I can handle many things. Blood tests? No problem. The bone-marrow biopsy? A walk in the park. Handling my pee? I am not a fan. It is warm. Walking your warm product across an open plan treatment room to give to your nurse is not something I want to repeat on a daily basis. At least it was better than the start of Cycle 2, when WM had me put it in front of her on the table.

The purpose of the urine sample then?

I have been asked this question many, many times. The answer has always been the same. I would love nothing more than being a bit ‘loose’ right now, but I cannot. Not even loose; a singular special cuddle would suffice. I am 28. And yet, my answer is always the same. “No, there is no chance of me being pregnant.”

Unless I was to blaspheme, there is no way I could be pregnant. True story.

🐣

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A Trip To The Dry Cleaners…

Me: Thank you. How much was that again?
Dry Cleaner Man: £8.50. You don’t need the ticket. I know who you are… What have you done to your leg?
EJB: [invisibly rolls eyes] Oh, I have not done anything. I was recently diagnosed with cancer of the bone marrow.
DCM: What does the doctor say?
EJB: Well I am currently undergoing treatment, including chemotherapy, so I am just working my way through that at the moment. [Smiles] But there is not a cure for the type of cancer I have.
DCM: Okay, just make sure you don’t get pregnant at this time.
EJB: Don’t worry, the doctors have warned me…
DCM: … You know, you should still be having sex but it is not good for a baby. Maybe wait for a few months after your treatment…
EJB: [shock]
DCM: …use protection, it depends what your boyfriend likes, but you know, you should use a condom and the pill just to be sure, or something… But make sure you do have sex, not all the time, but the exercise is good for you….
EJB: [mortified]… Yeah, ummm, yeah, my mobility is quite restricted…
DCM: … but you have to be careful not to get fat. You should be trying to have sex maybe every two weeks…
EJB: Oh okay, thanks. Bye [Exits]

💋👅👶😘

What Not To Ask A Myeloma Patient…

Sometimes, just sometimes, things should not be standardised.

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Couldn’t resist themselves could they? If applicable. Thanks.

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