If one were to rewind three months to the last days of PADIMAC, I believe I would have said that there was one thing I would never take for granted again. It’s something every able bodied person can do, even babies. At the time however, I was not able bodied. I was stuffed.

Fast forward to last Friday, after nearly three months of being treatment free, and I can honestly say that I had once again started to take my natural right to deposit, for granted. Then this VTD came along, a rude reawakening for those of us unfortunate enough to have to go through cancer treatment. Gone is the morning routine. Gone is the morning reprieve. Gone is the not thinking. In their place is an indescribable feeling of discomfort that makes you want to rip out your innards. Approximately 5lbs of discomfort… I would imagine.

Everything about having myeloma is difficult, but this side effect is my worst, because let’s face it, pooing should be simple. Every toilet based joke hinges on this assumption.

One day, the Medically Trained People may design a chemotherapy drug that does not make one feel the need to gentle coerce their waste out by talking to it, whispering sweet nothings, insisting that there is no need to be shy and that it is better out than in. I imagine some people would do this, I am not saying that is what I did this morning.

It is strange to think that I am now back in the position where a nice bit of splash back is worthy of celebration, but unfortunately I am. After Housemate left this morning, I celebrated. I celebrated for the first time in four days. That’s right, four days. In case you were wondering, that is 16 meals including a curry, a tin of baked beans (half cold, half heated), a mug full of linseed, prunes, a banana and three birds eye chillies.

Sometimes, shit just is not fair.