Ladies, gentlemen, friends, family, colleagues, acquaintances, people who like us, people who don’t…
First off.. I need to say thank you. To each and every one of you who took the time to read my blog. It took me a while to find my testicles and actually put it all ‘out there’ but now that it’s done, I.. in fact, we.. couldn’t be happier. The support we have had has been amazing, very much appreciated and extremely humbling. We aren’t ones for massive public displays of affection but seriously, from myself and the Mrs.. you guys fucking rock!
The last few week’s have pretty much gone by in a bit of a blur.
The eldest turned 18 and the middle one 17. Yet another reminder that we aren’t as young as we think and literally overnight have turned into those parents that think they are cool and still ‘down with it’ but the kids just find embarrassing! Saying that, we threw both a party/BBQ, which they eventually ditched to go out and we were still up partying when they got home. It’s called stamina kids. Or alcoholism. Either or.
The day after the party we were up, bleary eyed, fuzzy headed and ready to take part in pretty mudder race for life in aid of cancer research. When the Mrs was first diagnosed I remember saying..
“Does this mean we’ve got to sign up to those fun runs wearing pink wigs and fancy dress?”
“I don’t think it’s compulsory babe”.
I was dreading it but honestly? One of the best things I have done. The atmosphere is electric and looking around at all those other people, there for exactly the same reasons as you are, you actually can believe that one day, we can and will fucking beat this!
A big shout out has to go to Ma Perry who, as she approaches a special birthday this year (numbers not to be mentioned) also got stuck in and completed the whole course, despite being taken out and hurting her knee at the very end by a bloke and his size 12 hoofs. I know we were all there for the same thing but he did still get called a twat.
We literally laughed our way around the whole course along with everyone else and as we crawled out of the last mud pool, tears rolling down our faces, the wife turned to me and said “If I’d have laughed any harder in there I think I would’ve wet myself!”.. I couldn’t help but look back at the muddy water, soaking wet and think about every other woman who had thought the same thing and not been quite so lucky.
Over the next few weeks life pretty much went on as normal as we waited anxiously for our first x ray appointment at the Royal Marsden. The EHE foundation page that we belong to on Facebook has constantly got stories of people having various scans and check ups and often they refer to the period leading up to it as ‘scanxiety’. I think this sums it up pretty well if I’m honest.
I think we are positive people (all things considered), and we both knew that this appointment would be fine. It had to be. The annual Perry family holiday/piss up/tanning sesh was booked for a week later. As ever, our timing is impeccable. I’ve come to realise that you can be as positive as Mary Poppins on uppers and yet, the doubts still start to creep in. The wife had been getting a lot of pain in the boob recently. No obvious lumps but it did feel strange.
“It’s fine” the wife said “It’s probably just scar tissue from the op”
“Yeah I’m sure it is” I said “but last time you were convinced it was a cyst and look how that turned out”.
So the day quickly arrived and just happened to co-incide with the hottest day of the year since the beginning of time. As we boarded the train in Essex with ice water and a hip flask full of smirnoff (It’s important to stay hydrated on hot days) I said to the Mrs..
“Be prepared when the doors open at Fenchurch st. It’ll be like stepping into the fiery pits of hell”.
I couldn’t have been more accurate. As a born and bred Londoner myself, you get two types of people during extreme types of weather such as this. The hardened Londoner who is well prepared for the one day of the year that it all goes to shit. Not one sweat patch or deodorant stain to be found and make up put on with cement. Then there are the ones that didn’t get the memo about satans impending visit and have been caught completely off guard. Dripping with sweat and full of regret for deciding to wear corduroy jeans.
We made it to the Royal Marsden with plenty of time and it just so happens that there is a pub right outside the main outpatients department. I cannot reiterate how important it is to remain hydrated on days like this so it would have been rude not to. Although at £10 for 2 vodkas and 1 bottle of coke, that hip flask came in rather handy.
So, we checked in and were sent straight up to x ray. As mentioned before the plan for the next 2 year’s is regular chest x rays and if anything suspicious shows up then they’ll investigate further.
Hospital waiting rooms are interesting places. We love people watching and it does pass the time. On the right we had teenage Tracey. A face like a slapped arse and oozing resentment that she had to wait here with her visibly ill relative when she could be out in the sunshine trying to even out her bikini lines. Its a hard life Tracey. To the left we had conceited Colin. Who proceeded to tell us, the rest of the waiting room and anyone else who was listening that his diazepam was wearing off and he was the sickest person in the room.
We also met a lovely lady whilst we were there… for the purpose of this blog she will be known as Margaret. Moaning Margaret. Margaret is your typical NHS customer who will not pay private because, why should she? She’s paid in all her life, but will moan constantly about the inefficiency of the NHS.
“How dare they leave us waiting so long on a hot day like today! If we’d have gone private we would have been home by now”.
Build a bridge Margaret. Build a fucking bridge.
As it was they called us in first despite arriving later.
Moaning Margaret 0 – Perry’s 1.
Chest x ray done and the nurse took us into a room to wait for the consultant. Moaning Margaret had kept our mind busy for a little while but in that room it kind of all comes back. The what ifs, why’s etc etc. We’ve been here so many times receiving not so great news and despite the best positivity in the world you just never know.
We had a different consultant this time. A lovely lady who didn’t beat around the bush and straight away put us out of our misery.
“Chest x ray is all clear”.
Get. The. Fuck. In. Without even realising it, it’s like a huge weight has been lifted. We discussed the painful boob. The wife got it out (for about the millionth time. It’s like second nature now) and the consultant agreed that the pain and what we could feel was indeed scar tissue. We’d been at the hospital for just over an hour. If that isn’t the NHS at its finest then I don’t know what is.
Examination over, the consultant was happy and we were happy.
“Ok then Mrs Perry, we’ll see you again in 4 months”. Slight mood killer but we decided to let her off.
We half skipped out of there and stumbled into the nearest pizza express where we drank and stuffed our faces. Finally a post hospital celebration instead of the alternative we had become used to. I won’t lie, the scanxiety is still there and will no doubt get worse nearer to the next appointment but until then we will remain positive and if all else fails we’ll always have vodka.
Rather than heading straight back to Essex we had booked a little overnight stay at Casa Del Nan’s. And it was as we made our way there the Mrs had a slight wardrobe malfunction. In the searing heat and with the amount of steps we’d walked her bikini strings came loose and she almost lost her knickers halfway across London Bridge. Mr and Mrs Perry everyone. Lowering the cancer journey tone since 2018.
Mr&MrsP and the big C 