Blessed Samhain, everyone! There will be a lovely bonfire tonight. Hurrah!
At least, I hope it's hurrah. At the moment we are very worried, as our bad BoyCat stayed out all last night and hasn't reappeared this morning. I hope he's just got shut in somewhere and that whoever owns wherever he is will turn up and let him out very soon, but until then we can't do much but fret.
He may be doing it on purpose, of course, to pay us back for squeeing over KITTENS yesterday.
I shall be off to the Churchill shortly, for my pre-chemo consultation. These, I'm thankful to say, are generally non-invasive. Just as well, as I'm feeling a little wobbly and fragile, and might well burst into tears if anyone were to poke me about too much. (I have not, to date, done much, if anything, in the way of bursting into tears, but I reserve it as an emergency option.) I do have to ask about a bunch of things, including (i) continuing shortness of breath, (ii) possible build-up of ascites, (iii) will going to the dentist present a problem, (iv) is there anything that can be done to prevent the post-chemo TWINGES, because twinges up the fanny are Not Nice, and (v) almost certainly other stuff that I've forgotten. I shall probably forget all those by the time I get there. I should probably write them down. *proceeds not to do so*
I had an email from my line manager at the weekend - the poor woman never stops working - asking if I'd like to go to the team Christmas lunch. Sadly, a quick check of the cancer diary showed that the meal is on the Tuesday after chemo #5, when I shall be in the full throes of side-effect hell, so that'd be a no.
I really think we may as well cancel Christmas this year; I'm not up to shopping, let alone standing in line at the post office, and one can't do everything online. But then again - bloody cancer's miserable enough without we go giving up on the fun stuff.
Bloody cancer. Wretched cats. Oh, it's a great life, if you don't weaken!
