2007 — 20 July: the rain it raineth

A better night, mercifully unenlivened by noisy moron, and indeed hardly any birds after 4 a.m. as they were doubtless keeping their whistle-ey bits tucked under their built-in brollies.

It's now 09:55 and most of the first batch of meds (including the all-important Chemo) is safely onboard. I'll give Her the rest of the morning batch at or shortly after 10 o'clock, ideally after She's woken naturally as I hate to have to wake Her. (She's snoozing gently, completely untroubled by any sign of symptoms or side-effects — I have to check for these, of course.)

Later this morning

I'll be setting off for my "chat" with the GP, then it's up the hill to one of the banks up at Fryern, and call in on Mr Fishy Co on the way back, in that precise order. I think I'll treat myself to a bus ride. Then it should just about be time for lunch. One, rain-soaked step at a time, heh? Patience, I need to keep telling myself, is a virtue. I've certainly discovered the merits of planning, pacing,1 and making lists!

Well, at least the rain held off throughout the time I was on foot, though it's now incredibly humid of course. Besides, the GP advised brisk walking as marvellous exercise and a counter to depressing thoughts — not that I ever have any of those, of course.

Afternoon siesta and update

The "chat" was excellent, and, indeed, one of the District Nurses has already now contacted me and arranged to meet next week. Plus I have confirmation of all the contact numbers and details for those panic-stricken times when She stubs her toe on a mosquito and I go into meltdown — or whatever. The bank's new automated "paying in and make the tea" machine is amazing although, rather like one of those London super-loos of not so long ago, a bit daunting on first encounter. And Mr Fishy Co prepped a nice piece of cod (which passeth all understanding, no doubt) for Her supper.

She's currently chattering with one of her ex-Chamber of Commerce chums, but I shall intervene shortly lest the tiredness threshold be reached. (Not certain whether that's mine or Hers right now — I feel like I'm starting to float gently.)

That's a wrap, boys and girls

I know the nights are drawing in, but our hours of effective consciousness are also somewhat constrained just now. The GP assured me this is both normal and inevitable at this part of each Chemo cycle. Since I'm not the one taking the stuff, I need an alternative explanation for my own dog-tiredness, of course. Unaccustomed domestic duties and travails, perhaps?

Still, I shall certainly try to remain awake for long enough to greet Junior who's coming down for the weekend. And try to remember not to put the chain across the front door!



1  Although I meant the virtues of taking things step by step at an even speed, I sometimes also do a spot of the sort of pacing that Bush did (with his wooden foot) that so upset Hornblower!