The operation to remove as much of the tumour as possible went smoothly, which I'm taking as a good omen. But, it is difficult to stay positive, especially when everytime I go to the loo, hobelling slightly, lead by mam, arm attached to a drip, I look in the mirror and see a ghostly face starring back at me, bald as a baby and there's fear in the grey blue eyes that stare back at me.
I know that my hair will grow back, that the paleness will turn back to light tan, that the dark patches around my eyes will fade.
Yet, it's like my mangled appearance is more significant. The only reason that the appearance of my old self won't appear, is if I don't get better.
That reality is a stark, unspoken, but true one.
If I stay this way for ever more, I am....young, forever more.
My bed in the ward is at the far end, by the big metal double doors, on a night I can hear the nurses walking along the corridors, checking each patient. During the night they check my blood pressure, check my drip, a few times, sometimes I wake up, sometimes it's so blurry that I'm not sure it really happened.
The ward has both boys and girls on it, all teenage cancer patients, we all mostly stay away from the subject of our illness's, but Jason, the boy who sleeps on the bed next to mine, is the most open about what is happening.
The first time I met him, was the day before the operation, my first day in hospital, when I was under observation, the difference of before and after was that before we both had hair and now we're hairless and have tubes all over and he has a tube up his nose to feed him, which I will soon be sharing when my Chemo starts. He was handsome, with these big, bright green eyes that were calm and interested at the same time. He told me he wanted to be a writer so everybodys story is interesting to him as he loves to have inspiration.
The second time we met, after we had both gone under a bit of a make-over, or make-under as it is probably more appropriate to call it, I just saw those huge green eyes, still curious, still calm amongst the busy and sometimes panicked cancer ward and I felt better.
Despite only knowing Jason for a day and a bit, I new we had a common ground. Amazingly cancer can bring you closer to people, even those you didn't know before it.
"How did it go?" he asked, with a cheeky grin.
"I'm told as well as can be expected."
"I hate when they say that...what does that even meen?"
"Exactly." I laughed, I actually laughed. Three hours after waking up after major surgery, woozy and slightly disoriented, he got me to laugh.
If that isn't a sign of a good friend, I don't know what is!