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The problem with being treated at a cancer centre that is 30+ miles from my house is that if you have to do something a bit mundane like get a Covid or blood test it takes up a big chunk of the day. My chemo is next Friday so they need to know that I don't have the Coronavirus and that my blood shows I am well enough to get treatment. Once again I have to pass some tests to prove myself fit enough to be ill.
It's also hard to estimate journey time, so I was at the hospital 40 minutes early for my Covid test, which was lucky as very poor signage meant it was hard to find where I was going. The problem is that the hospital has a drive through test centre and an actual test centre and they haven't really managed to distinguish between the two. And as a result it was a bit chaotic. I followed signs for Virus testing and ended up at a building that definitely wasn't a drive through. I arrived at the same time as another confused man who was also in the wrong place and we were directed back to the gate. The drive through bit was right by the bus stops and I think a bus had been in the way when we'd arrived. But also there were signs pointing in the direction we'd gone.
When I got to the gate there was a little bit of a queue, but it turned out the three cars in front of me had all come to the wrong place. The staff member at the entrance to the drive through bit was frazzled by the encounters and wondered if I was in the right place. I told her I'd already been to the wrong place, so I thought I was at the right place (though still half an hour early) and with relief she confirmed that this was where I was meant to be.
A big sign at the gate saying “Drive through Covid testing this way. Covid centre this way†would have done the job and saved everyone a lot of time and frustration. I imagine this system has been running for a while, so you'd think they would have made some adjustments. Of the five people I saw trying to find where they were meant to be, all five had gone to the wrong place first.
Still I got my Covid test done and then went to do my blood work. After a bit of confusion as to where I was meant to go. The receptionist had told me to go to the left, so I'd done that and sat on a chair for five minutes, before checking that's where I was meant to be. She had failed to add that I needed to go left, through some double doors on the right and then take a left, but come on, I should have worked that out.
The blood tests were quick, though I was a bit surprised when the nurse put some paper towel under the arm that was being mined for blood. I'd never had that before. Were we expecting for it to gush up like a new oil well when she struck my vein? As it turned out it was good that she'd done that because as she took off the first bottle of my blood (they were taking two samples which was very nearly a handful) she was a bit rough and yanked out the needle. I wasn't looking - I am fine with all this stuff, but I never like to watch what's going on- so I don't know what the effects were, but she couldn't have been more apologetic and said she hadn't done this for ages (oh yeah, Mrs paper towel under the arm? Are you sure?). I really didn't mind. The last time I'd been in hospital they'd cut out one of my bollocks, so I wasn't bothered about a thimbleful of lost blood. I've got loads of that. And it just grows back anyway.
If you do your own job perfectly then I suppose you can be upset if someone else makes a minor error in theirs. But luckily for her, my life is full of much more serious fuck ups and I told her to forget about it. I was pricked again and all was fine and I was soon on my way home.
I am slightly nervous about the chemo (which as I've said is, like my whole experience of this situation like being a cancer tourist, doing a Total Recall version where everything is basically safe - though the charge of one bollock per customer seems a bit extreme). Side effects are minimal (for nine out of ten - everything has become about playing the odds with this and I am reminded of the original derivation of the word decimation), but are still possible and my immune system will be weakened, so it's not like it's completely without possible consequence. But I am nothing like as nervous as I was about having a part of my body removed. Once someone has cut off one of your balls you find it pretty easy to cope with most other things. And that didn't turn out to be as bad as I thought it might be. The closest I've come to psychological repercussions was to see myself in a mirror and observe that my ballsack, on one side at least, looks like that of a boy: a weird, hairy boy with an old man's wrinkled scrotum, but still, much smaller without that bollock behemoth weighting it down.
I could do a variety show with my balls, like those acts who used to dress up half male and half female, except I'd be half kid bollock and half adult.
I guess that could make one feel self-conscious or less manly, but I am, I think, OK with it. On the plus side I can fit back into quite a few pairs of pants that had become uncomfortable in the last few years. Was that because my ball was slowly growing or because I'd got fat? Who knows? I still have no idea how long this thing has been growing (it was always quite a big bollock). But either way, this is a good way to make pants fit without the inconvenience of going on a diet.
We watched James Acaster's latest stand up show "cold lasagne hate myself 1999†tonight -
available for just £10 from Vimeo - and it's a fucking masterpiece. Brilliant surgery-scar-hurting routines and an incredible frisson brought about by Acaster's vulnerability and actual/mainly jokey contempt for his audience and for comedy itself. At times it feels like it could go anywhere. He's like a Stewart Lee with some humanity and self-criticism. It's a wonderful tight-rope of a two hours (I was very tired going into this, but it refreshed me and I wanted to see it right to the end - you also get another 40 minute set for your tenner which I haven't watched yet).
The weariness with the job is something that Stewart also trades on, of course, and I think that comes more with having to play with audiences, a good proportion of whom have come to see you because of something you've done on telly that might not be representative of your stand up. I am lucky (I suppose) to have built up an audience that is pretty much made up of people who know what sort of stuff they are going to get. I have never really experienced an audience treating me differently in any part of the UK (Both Acaster and Lee have discussed the difficulty of doing anti-Brexit material in pro-Brexit areas).
The vulnerability is what sets it apart though. He's in control and juggling fire on a unicycle (this is a metaphor - do not buy this in the hope of seeing circus skills), but pretty much at any time you are worried he's going to fall off the stage and kill a few audience members. Though he's through the worst of what he experienced, there is still a vestige of it there and it's quite unusual to see this in a comedy show - especially with the American acts that he parodies who are sure that they are always in the right. It's extraordinary, even by his own very high standards.
This show actually made me miss stand up and marvel at the balls (even harder if you've only got one, I imagine) it takes to get up in front of strangers and talk to them for two hours. Even though that's what I have done for years. When I see an act of this depth and quality and honesty, it's an inspiration, though I don't think I'd ever hit those heights. I hope I will be back on stage soon and maybe in 2022 it will be time to do another stand up show. If only I had something to talk about which would expose my vulnerability...
