I mean no disrespect to the manufacturers of Oramorph when I say that I do not like it. Instant pain relief in the guise of orally administered morphine, whilst it does offer pain relief, is not my friend. I decided quite quickly into my journey that unless my pain is so bad that I cannot walk, I will not take the stuff. I may have mentioned it before, for I am frequently telling others looking for flattery… I forgo breakthrough pain relief to allow me to converse with others. I sacrifice the body for my brain and I want a tap on the back for that. Or at least a smile, so I know that the person is thinking “wow, she’s a brave lass.”

I am not going to shy away from this, Oramorph makes me high, but not in a good way. It makes me slow and it makes me sleepy, and if I were ever brave enough to listen to a recording of my voice, I would have evidence that it makes me slur. Apparently it also has addictive qualities, which was a concern, given my penchant for beer, cream and EMan. I had to take it when I was in hospital because my pain was that bad and I did not understand what pain management meant. When I returned home and tried to conduct my day to day affairs, it was a struggle to do this on Oramorph and while receiving chemotherapy. The latter won out and a developed a Cancer Rule.

That said, I am contemplating taking a dose of the sweet liquor this coming Friday. I am booked in for a MRI scan and the word best used to describe how I feel towards my scan is ‘apprehensive’. I am not apprehensive about what the scan will find, that will be what that will be. I am apprehensive about how I am going to lie on the flat metal slab for 45 minutes and then get back up again. I am pleased I am getting a re-scan, I have pushed to have one for so long because I need to know what is going on inside my body, I just wish the Medically Trained People could get the images without me having to experience any pain.

An MRI scan involves me being buried alive in a dark metal tube for 45 minutes as it makes sounds akin to my one year old niece hitting the dogs’ metal water bowls against Mamma Jones’ tiled flooring. Constantly. The last time I had an MRI scan was on the 20 August, the same day I was formally diagnosed and the same day I had my bone marrow biopsy. I can say that getting up off that slab at the end of the scan, transferring myself to a wheelchair, to then transfer myself to another wheelchair in the clean room and then to wait 50 minutes to be collected by a porter, was the most physically painful thing I have ever experienced, despite the 10ml dose of Oramorph I had before I left my hospital bed. I do not want to experience that pain ever, ever, ever again.

It was at that point that I stopped lying flat. Another Cancer Rule.

Things are slightly different now. I must remember this. I have had a Kyphoplasty and more often than not, my pain is managed. I can lie flat for a short period of time, let’s say for something pleasant like radiotherapy, and only experience mild discomfort. I am going to have to keep telling myself this over the next five days, so that I am able to lie in that metal tube and so that I do not wake up in the early hours panicking that my Oramorph is at Mamma Jones’ house.

It is, after all, a means to an end.