I’m typing this slooooowly and (sh!) quietly. I have a raging headache, courtesy of Denosumab. (The stuff that gets injected every month into my well-padded stomach.)

The name sounds like ancient Egyptian to me. Ah yes, Denosumab, life-long friend of Senostrus and head charioteer for Thustmoses III. I find myself wondering what happened to all those fabulous Egyptian names: Imhotep, Hatshepsut, Nefertiti, Rameses…? These days Egyptians seem to have Arabic names…not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. But still, their weird names and pyramids are what set these people apart and they no longer do either. I think it’s a shame.

Back to my old friend, Den. It’s an amazing concoction that somehow (scientific magic) helps my bones fight cancer, helps prevent fractures and keeps the pain at bay. Useful stuff. I’m a little bemused that, even though it strengthens my bones, in the long run, if I take it a long time (and that’s the plan), it will weaken the bones in my jaw and they could crumble. Isn’t that weird? Why? I ask. And, Why the jaw in particular? Is it something to do with Den’s past life as an ancient Egyptian?

Today is also the first day on a new oestrogen fighter. The first two worked by suppressing the last few drops of oestrogen left in my body, in an attempt to starve the cancer cells. They’re similar to koalas and pandas in that they only eat one thing. No, not eucalyptus or bamboo shoots. That’d just be silly! They eat oestrogen. So, if  we can block their supply they’ll starve and, therefore, they won’t spread. Only one problem: the first two pills I tried made me ill.

Today I began pill #3. This one works differently. It creates a molecule inside my body that resembles oestrogen. The cancer cells draws it in, thinking it’ll have a jolly good feed and, instead, the saboteur attaches itself like a limpet to the cancer. No oestrogen can get in or out. Isn’t that brilliant?

How does that work? How do people invent such a thing? I have to admit that the brain of a science boffin is an alien landscape to me. It’s as foreign, in its function, as the way caterpillars turn into butterflies, or the way some people happily eat sheep’s eyes or deep-fried mice.

However, dear science boffins; dear white-coat-wearing lab technicians; dear dreamers of molecules, amino acids and other medical mumbo-jumbo, you have my mouth-hanging-open admiration and my deepest (let me bake you a cake) gratitude. You’re amazing. Now, if you could just figure out a way for these life-saving things to stop making me feel like crap, you’d be near perfection.