2007 — 12 August: Sunday again already?!

And, thankfully, not yet anywhere near as brutally hot as yesterday. Thankfully, too, this is, in fact, the last day1 of the active "Chemo" phase of Her second cycle already. (From tomorrow until 22nd August we only have about eight sets of jollop to deal with each day. Then it's Da Capo all over again, as Lawrence Peter "Yogi" Berra might have put it.)

She's resting quietly and comfortably on Her bed, waiting to down the last of the morning meds, and enjoying the latest New Statesman magazine. As Sunday is a newspaper-free zone here, the next crossword has to wait until tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'm enjoying a spot of plainsong on BBC Radio 3, dodging the "Archers" while waiting to hear Felix Dennis on "Desert Island Discs" over on Radio 4. And wondering, as ever, what to write to dear Mama, whose first great granddaughter turns two today down in far-off New Zealandland — very happy birthday, little Mikayla!


The brief toddle to the Post Box took its toll, frankly, so She's been dozing and resting quietly on the sofa downstairs. Any way, lunch for the two of us is now a feast of the (re)past, and the dishes are drying by a wonderful process called evaporation. Time for a cuppa tea each and let's see how the afternoon pans out. It seems (according to the forecast on Gardeners' Question Time) we're due to get wind and rain, starting overnight tomorrow, so at least there's no watering to be done.

Just the one med to go this afternoon, and that will be it until evening hoves into view. I'm knackered, and I'm not even the one taking all these pills and whatnot. It is remarkable how the Chemo is knocking the wind out of Her sails; I just glumly/grimly watch and hope that it's getting on with its job. If Her tiredness is any indication of the ferocity of the internal battle, and I assume it is, I'd say it looks hopeful. But this is hard work. Even a few minutes conversation with people as we toddle about visibly drains Her energy.

Winding down...

... towards the end of what has been mostly a Good Day. I can hear Her singing gently to Herself as She gets ready for the night. The last Chemo is safely onboard; the immediate neighbourhood has been quietly and slowly toddled around; a kindly invitation for a chat next door respectfully declined (see above!); just four more meds to stow equally safely away and we'll be on track for the night's ration of sleep. (Which is highly recommended, by the way.) But unwelcome pain right at the end of the day is miserable for a while. Hate this disease!



1  My, how Time flies when you're so busy. (Fruit flies remain busy in the garden, of course.)