Most Odd

WHY O WHY did I waste so much of my time on DRUGS~?? They only make life much more mediocre.

I only stayed up till 4am. I was trying to read the Famous Five but just could not focus. My attention span is growing terrible. Pages and pages flying by in a blur. I am ranting, ranting, ranting in my head all the time at someone who is not there!

O I didn't want to say this but 2 friends of mine are dying. When  you've got liver cirrhosis that bad it looks like you're pregnant, that's terminal. And my certain other friend has a breast lump ~ yes, someone ELSE ~ PLUS lumps under the armpit. That means she is fucked. At this rate I'm going to be left completely alone. I'm the only person I know who thinks he is going to live past 90,

I'm not depressed any more! I feel more excitable than average. At least when people die they are at peace.

What am I saying about "fucked"; my Mum's breast cancer had spread to her lymph nodes too and she's alive and well 5 years later!

Great Expectations just came on. The black and white version. One minute Pip was a kid with that Elizabeth Taylor-like brat saying, "You may kiss me if you like." Then he was grown up. Then some people were sentenced to be hanged. Then she (brat-girl) inherits the house. Then it was over!

The dance music (presently) on Clubland ~ Freesat 514 ~ is way too slow. I need something exciting and fast like this:

CLUBLAND XTREME HARDCORE MEGAMIX 8 ~ CLUBLAND TV




Barbra Streisand. What a voice. She mightn't have been "pretty" in her prime but wow, was she beautifully sexy. Last night I put on Yentl. Tunes going round and round my head. Cannot get ANYTHING I want from her to put her: "embedding disabled by request".

So here's DJ Sammy "Heaven" Sweetzero remix

 

Hope y'all are having a good weekend!

Why I'm Turning Into A Woman

I THINK I KNOW WHY I am turning into a woman now. At least on one side of my chest. RISPERIDONE the antipsychotic I took on-off for nearly a year DOES cause "gynecomastia" in men and boys!

I was getting money out of the cash point at 1am last night when I heard a woman's voice yelling "that dog looks like a donkey!" It was a friend of mine. Drunk out of her head. Wanting a can of dogfood for a man she later claimed was trying to sleaze her up. She was so out of it in MY corner shop ~ picking up jars of peas, slurring on about pet food which it eventually transpired they don't sell (they don't sell breakfast cereal either) and I could tell if we didn't leave quick we were going to get chucked out. So we had to go a few shops down for Pedigree Chum and then the giant dog was too nervous to touch it! She has liver cirrhosis so bad it looks like she's pregnant. And she told me the symptoms of that were real heavy sweats (which I get, but blamed on my methadone wearing off too quickly because methadone does cure them; then again opiates cure a multitude of symptoms (not just pain) so that doesn't necessarily mean anything... also episodic extreme fatigue (yes) ~ but then again I got diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome 16 years ago and I always assumed it was just that. I'm hep C negative. Yes I did used to drink enough to get memory black outs. But that was years ago. I still drink. I was drinking yesterday and the alcohol was making me feel ill. My tolerance for it seemed to have fallen (which is a sign of liver disease). When I knocked it back I felt really high ~ more like a drugs high than a feeling you'd expect from drink... followed by horrible dehydration. And I had to knock back double the volume of water compared to cyder and even then I didn't feel 100%. Ukh. What the hell is wrong with me?

I'm totally off the drink today, by the way.

 We went back to her flat and she had a really good grope of my tit and kept comparing it to hers. It doesn't even look like a woman's breast, not even one that would score 1/10 in terms of size. I pressed down her fingers and said "feel it. There's something else there." And she said "It's not a lump. It feels like a bit of gristle." And that is exactly how it feels. The word "cyst" means "bladder" (hence cystitis). There's nothing round and bladder-like about this and no way is that "normal" breast tissue.

I just looked up symptoms of alcoholic liver disease and though they do point out how nonspecific they can be, I get a lot of them. Including this weird nausea-like feeling. No jaundice though. If they think they're giving me a torturous liver biopsy without general anaesthesia... well I'm 50:50. Would I even bother having one? Bearing in mind they insert a terrifying knitting needle length contraption that tears out a chunk of liver. It's like the device they use for testing cheese, but in miniature. Liver biopsies REALLY HURT. Another friend of mine had one and now has to go for another. And she says this time they've promised her general anaesthetic. Though everything this person says has to be taken with a pinch of salt. There doesn't seem to be much in the way of treatment for alcoholic liver problems anyhow. Which is even less reason to bother with a biopsy.

Another reason I didn't think I had anything wrong with me for weeks, despite what I now see as "symptoms" was that the nasty drug quetiapine (Seroquel) made me ill all the time. And as y'all know I'm prone to depression. In certain "episodes" I get quite a strong feeling of malaise. For lack of any specific symptoms I told myself it was all in my head. As for quetiapine: the first week on that coincided with flu-type symptoms and heavy sweats. Weeks later I was still getting excessive drowsiness, faintness, dots in front of the eyes (like when migraine is coming on) and the type of brain fog associated with hepatitis C and CFS/ME. Then I found out that of all things the athelete's foot spray I was applying every day was messing up metabolism of the Seroquel. When I stopped that I felt better ~ but not completely well. The same symptoms persisted. Just to a lower degree. I need to find some mental treatment that works, surely. One day I might really need it. I've met loads of people on olanzopine (Zyprexa) and they don't seem to moan about side-effects.  Another possible route for the mental health is mood stabilizers. But lithium, the commonest one, sounds horrible. Anyway it's not good for rapid cycling and a lot of my "episodes" are pretty short. I just get lots of them close together, without necessarily any period of truly "normal" mood in between. A lot of people on mood stabilizers say that even if they do flatten out the mood completely (rather than just reducing the amplitude of the manic-depressive cycles) they tend to leave them feeling slightly depressed all the time. Well that's bloody wonderful.

Anyway what am I talking about here? I've been posting for too long. Anna Grace if you're reading this, change your comments setting. You got zero comments last time because your old blog is set to "team members only". Whoever your "team members" are, I'm not one of them. And why, Anna did you say you were in Hawaii a few weeks ago. And now you're telling us you've been in Wisconsin the whole time?

Anyway I've got to go. If your weekend can't be great then may it be tolerable :-)

What Happened At The Hospital

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN WEEKS I wasn't clucking when I woke up this morning. I was so para about missing the 9:45 hospital appointment I got up at 7am. Packed a toothbrush, deodorant, Michael Jackson book, Famous Five and everything. Just in case I needed instant surgery. I drank most of my methadone. Am saving some till tonight in the hope that I won't have to walk to the chemist tomorrow in menopausal-style sweats. Miraculously I had survived the previous 24 hours on just the 30mg prescribed. I had been drinking a little extra on top as I'd messed up my system taking heroin every day for just over a month. I'm off the heroin now. And off the extra methadone too. I won't be going back to either in a hurry.

The consultant told me I was growing breast tissue. He mentioned normal and abnormal tissue but wouldn't tell which was mine. I had to tell him about the methadone and the Seroquel/quetiapine. Methadone because it could mess up general anaesthesia if some opioid like fentanyl were part of the cocktail. Seroquel becaus it can cause production of breast milk even in young boys. He said there was no connection between this and what I have. He did say cannabis can make you grow tits, but I never touch that crap. The doctor seems to suspect my problem has something to do with my liver. As for why is the swelling one side only, he said that just happens sometimes.

He can't think I'm seriously ill, surely, as my next appointment is in JUNE. He also said excessive male breast tissue does not necessarily have to be removed. We'll see about that. I've also got to have a scan in about 2 weeks. I had to go down for blood tests ~ liver function, electrolytes and soemthing called B-HCG or B-HC4. Couldn't read the doctor's writing. O I just googled it! B-HCG is the PREGNANCY HORMONE!!!

Here's the scene from Carry on Matron where Kenneth Williams thinks he's turning into a woman. Watch it and you'll see why I love Carry on films so much:

 

Anyway back to the blood-letting and I really wasn't looking forward to the stabbing at my veinless arms but she got me first time in each hand. My GP annoyingly enough wanted a glucose and lipids profile so I needed 2 tests. My right hand dried up after barely 1ml and that took a stressfully long time to dribble out. The left hand was a real gusher ~ 3ml within a couple of seconds. I haven't hit up there for years since hitting an artery right beside where she hit the vein.

Then I hit the cyder on the way back. Only drank one litre (as well as a half litre can on the way there) ~ but that was enoughto make me feel dehydrated and crap all day. It's past 8:30 and I still don't feel right.

So anyway I've no idea what's supposedly wrong with me. The mystery continues...

Illustrated: fentanyl ~ often used in general anaesthesia.

Life is a Gift

I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT WITH A BREAST CANCER specialist this Thursday at 9:45am. I nearly didn't pick up the phone from the clinic, thinking it was an annoying friend.

I am sorry about what I said yesterday, or the attitude behind it. I have been very ungrateful for my life. Talking about meeting God, when life itself is a miracle from God.

As for the rest of the ranting, I really don't know what the hell I want. I just know I don't want to be FORCED into any treatment against my will. I want my own life to be my own decision.

Apparently my swelling is visible through clothing. The lump itself feels flat, the shape of a very shallow pencil eraser. It's about 2cm or 2/3 of an inch long. I've been told by several people, including my mother, who's actually had breast cancer, that it's probably a cyst. Cysts hurt. Cancer doesn't (until the terminal stage and we all know about that.)

By the way I never mentioned this before because for weeks it just felt like a bruise. But when I knocked it the night before the doctor's appointment for my toe, I had a proper look and realized how swollen it actually is.

Re my other minor medical issues: the pus-ridden toenail has stopped pussing, still smells a bit of dustbins and has gone itchy ~ a sure sign of healing. I'm on flucloxacillin 250mg x4 daily.

My once crooked and inflexible broken finger has straightened up so well it barely looks any different to my other fingers now. It isn't stiff. I can type properly again.

I don't know how long it will be till I find out whether I'm at death's door and how far from that door I actually am.

I know if I do get diagnosed with cancer I will probably cry. I cried when the doctor told me I had schizophrenia and manic depression together and back then I was in what he succinctly called an "elevated mood" (ie ravingly manic).

I'm reading Enid Blyton's Famous Five. Her characters are obsessed with food and seem forever to be knocking back ginger beer.

My mood has improved considerably since last week. I'm not even that bothered about the prospect of surgery ~ just as long as they don't lop my nipple off!

Well I've got to go. I'm about to have four cheese tortelloni and broccoli with a mountain of grated Red Leicester.

Cancer Scare!

I HAVE A SWOLLEN lump just above my left nipple, which is really painful. It has been there for weeks and is getting bigger. And I seem to keep banging it all the time, which really hurts. My chest looks normal in the mirror, but if I look down it's noticably swollen on the left side. The (female) doctor had a good old grope then announced she is sending me off to a specialist. I didn't behave very grown up at all during this consultation. Couldn't stop smiling near-ecstatically the entire time. Then I said "I heard cancer is normally a hard lump" (this is soft-ish and feels like a loop, like some kind of atrophied veins or something though I hasten to add I have NOT been injecting there). But she said, "Not necessarily." Anyway, she's making me an appointment with a specialist. A breast cancer specialist, I assume. Apparently one case in a hundred of breast cancer does happen in MEN.

I was so excited last night I could not sleep. If I am dying I will have to write tons and tons of my little books to keep my family in money after I am gone. NO WAY am I having chemotherapy or radiotherapy. I will probably let them take the lump out, but that's it. If you think I'm the sort of person who posts how he wants to die one week then suddenly changes his mind when death becomes a real possibility, you really don't know me. I watch/listen to the religious channels on TV every day. And every night I get the Bible read out unedited in full on the TWR radio channel. I cannot wait to meet God. I don't want to live in this shitty world a day longer than absolutely necessary.

If anyone DARES try and force me into treatment against my will (which they theoretically could do by claiming I am mentally ill), I shall hire a lawyer and go to court over the issue. One thing God did bless me with was an eloquent mouth. And even if the judge rules against me I shall take up smoking in bed, cut open the drip bags and do everything possible to mess up their treatment.

If I've only got a short time to live, I'd better contrive as many novel-plots as I possibly can, so after I'm gone the publishers can hire someone else to turn them into books (like they did with Virginia Andrews). O yeah and I'd better write my will quick. If I don't write one, everything, including intellectual property rights, goes to my brother (as far as I understand), which I don't mind. But I wanted to make a more complicated will that would cut in more family members. I just hope they are hard-nosed enough to exploit my every literary creation for all it is worth. Storytelling might be an art, but publishing, movies, computer games and other spin-offs are business and I want them treated as such. If they sign any duff contracts after I am gone, for example selling film rights for a lump sum rather than taking a share of gross receipts, DVD sales etc (never net profits) AS WELL as a lump sum advance, then I really will turn in my grave (or my ashes pot).

So that's me. You all thought I'd die of an overdose and I'm probably dying of cancer! Keep smiling, I am. I want a roborovski hamster on my headstone.

XXXXXXX

PS I just read this back. I know it comes across a little weird. But I might be dying. What the hell else am I supposed to say?