Fcancerwith: Hazmat Birthday Wake-Ups and the Covid Police

Sitting in a cold cap (again). Post-Glastonbury hangover and mega comedown. Garage burgled while we were away. Chemo flowing. Steroids doing the business. Reviewing contracts. Eating like a trooper. And tomorrow’s my birthday.

Bit messed up. But whatever happens tomorrow, it won’t be the most f***ed up birthday I've ever had. That award goes to my 40th.

Three years ago. I’d just been told I needed liver surgery — a tumour had shown up. I was meant to be at Glastonbury that year too. So I didn’t tell the hospital team and went anyway... not the most responsible option.

Two days later, I was in Basingstoke Hospital, under the care of the brilliant Mr Myrddin Rees — one of the absolute best.

Post surgery, I was supposed to spend a few days recovering, maybe catch a bit of Wimbledon from the hospital bed. I had fully planned to be in hospital for my birthday.

Instead, at 3am on my birthday, two nurses in hazmat suits burst into my room. All I could think of was that scene from E.T. where he’s dying. Not exactly a party vibe.

Sadly, it wasn’t some ill-advised birthday strip show. They’d woken me up to tell me that I'd tested positive for COVID-19 the day before my surgery, and that I’d be moved to the COVID ward.

Then they left.

To this day I have no idea why they couldn’t have woken me up later. Safe to say I didn’t get much sleep after that. I had no idea what was happening.

At 9am, Mr Rees turned up. He’d heard what was going on and took one look at the plan and said, absolutely not. He didn’t want me moved — he was sure it would make things worse.

He told me that the COVID police would be coming in the early afternoon to move me, and if I wasn’t discharged by then, there’d be nothing he could do.

So, within about five hours, he pulled out all the stops. Three drains removed, canula out, dressings changed, stitches checked. Physio called to make sure I could walk down the corridor.

By 2pm, my dad had picked me up. And by about 4:30pm I was home with Katy and the kids.

To be honest, I don’t remember much else — aside from the stomach pain, which was brutal. Not quite as bad as the bowel surgery pain, but close. Mostly I just remember thinking: Katy probably thought she was getting a quiet birthday, and then I turned up out of nowhere.

But more than anything, I felt grateful. For Mr Rees. For the nurses. For the chance to be home.

So yeah, tomorrow might be a bit strange. But I’ll take it. Because every birthday I get now feels like a bit of a win.

Also: this whole post was dictated into ChatGPT because my face is frozen solid from the cold cap and I can't type. So to anyone who hates AI-generated posts: tough. AI's helping me get shit done today. Stick that opinion somewhere warm.

P.S. I did try to get AI to put my face on ET’s. The result was so disturbing I couldn’t post it. You’re welcome.

#FcancerwithAI #FCAI #BirthdayWithCancer #WorkingWithCancer #GlastoToChemo #HazmatBirthday