Normal

It was three months ago this week that I got the cancer diagnosis and in that time a rather ordinary word has taken on a new meaning. That word is "normal".

In the days "BC" normal was getting the train to work, picking up a bottle of milk from Sainsburys, walking the dogs. Now "normal" in cancer-speak seems to be the most un-normal things you could come up with, for example.

"Now take these poisonous chemicals, they will make you feel really sick, that's normal. We'll give you some slightly less poisonous chemicals to make you feel normal again."

Another one was during chemo last week, bear in mind this is cycle three, I have another 9 to go. I'm getting used to the chemo sessions, trekking back and forth to the hospital is of course rapidly becoming the new normal. Everything is going fine up until they run in the second set of magnesium and calcium salts (another side-effect preventer) and the nurse asks me if I'd like a drink, what came out of my mouth sounded like Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn as my mouth and tongue decided they had forgotten how to make words.


Now this only lasted a matter of seconds but caused a bit of a stir and the summoning of a man in a white coat bearing a stethoscope who, after a few questions, established that this can happen on quickly delivered high doses of calcium and that it was, of course, normal.

I'm sorry but accidentally summoning the Elder Gods when asking for a cup of tea and shortbread biscuit is never going to be bastard normal.

But as I'm discovering three months in, as soon as someone hands down the dread diagnosis, nothing will be normal ever again.