Yes, we go there. Because you’ve got to laugh! And awful dark humour is our coping mechanism.
Deep, dark, witty, sarcasm has added levity to our whole gnarly year. It lightens even the worst days, and keeps us smirking away despite a lot of challenges. It makes for big belly laughs with mates, and occasionally horrifies someone we’ve not seen in a while.
We compare cancers and pitch them against one another, just because we can! Because it’s funny and macabre, and because it’s better than despair. We bicker and banter daily - in person, on whatsapp, in hospital in-front of Doctors, everywhere!
‘My cancer was worse than yours’ is my husband’s favourite claim.
‘I’ll go to work with my cancer, keep us afloat babe, whilst you haven’t worked a day in 2019’, is my standard retort.
‘You get only 4 hours of Chemo. I did 290 hours S T R A I G H T’ is his frequent complaint.
‘I am on drugs for 10 years and you got 9 months’ is an easy comeback.
'You're cured you need no more sympathy' is the current winner.
Literally no one cares now, babe
Friends have started to join in too, refusing to offer up any sympathy or interest in his ongoing health improvements, in favour of concern for me.
This week we headed to the Western to catch up with Keith’s Consultant, Mr Nixon. In learning of my diagnosis he jumped right on the ‘no one cares, Keith’ bandwagon.
He told us we were about to spend too much time at the Western as it is and discharged Keith until January next year. Instead of seeing him monthly as is protocol.
We like Dr Nixon a lot. He was his usual chirpy self, delighted to see Keith, and still happy to take the piss out of Keith's desire to have his chiseled jawline return (Edema, it probably won't).
Literally no one cares about the first cancer patient now, not even his medical team!*
We don’t fight, fight
Our sarcasm and banter is sour and harsh but our relationship could probably withstand anything now - not that I’d like more testing. It doesn’t mean it hasn’t been pushed to the absolute brink, and there was that one giant fight in the middle of the year that almost ended with a suitcase and a hotel.
We bicker, we laugh, we have cried a lot. We take the piss, a lot. I take offence often, and we move on with life with a smirk.
Our coping mechanism would not suit everyone, and it horrifies some of our family, friends, and colleagues. But it works for us.
*We can call and see him anytime, he’s not truly abandoned.