Post 84: A Nice Cool Breeze.
I had a day of relaxation with my old pal, Mr Vicious.
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Not a lot is supposed to happen on any day during the three-week stretches between Carboplatin cycles — so I’m quite pleased to report that absolutely nothing happened yesterday.
After the hottest June day on record, the 1st of July was even hotter. Phew!
Oh — and white rabbits.
It’s the first of the month, and I’m reminded of the million times my mum used to ring, text, or say those words directly to my face — for good luck, apparently.
Clearly, I haven’t kept up with the tradition… hence why I’m lying here with remnants of chemo in my veins instead of being out in the world doing the things I used to do. So maybe I should start — a few months of “rabbits” surely can’t hurt.
Speaking of spiritual stuff, I have a relative who’s in need of a bit of a boost herself. She’s having a call this week with a spiritual advisor to ask about her chances of having children — it’s been a tough road, and the stress of it all is understandably weighing heavy.
I don’t believe in that sort of thing personally, but I do believe in the power of a positive mental attitude. And how you get there is your own business. I wish her every ounce of luck — just as we were lucky, so long ago. I’ll cross my fingers… and whisper “white rabbits” too, just in case.
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I woke up full of beans again, but by midday someone had flicked a switch and I was out cold on the sofa — a proper natural coma, gone in seconds.
It’s becoming clearer to me that I don’t have much strength left right now. And not getting out beyond the house or garden for days probably doesn’t help. I’m tall and on the thinner side, with a soft little chocolate belly — perfect for the daily jabs of Tinzaparin. Definitely not the fit chap I once was.
I remember being out there raising money for the BHF, cycling the London to Brighton ride with my work pals. That was a scorcher of a day too, and the only injury was to our undercarriages after several hours in the saddle. A BBQ at the finish line sorted us out. I couldn’t do it now, of course, but that’s not the point.
There’s still plenty I can do.
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I spent some peaceful hours sitting outside in the shade of the flamingo tree — on a white plastic chair, no less — while a gentle breeze snuck under the semi-circular prostate bush (the irony never fails me).
The breeze was beautiful. I read my Kindle, fell into the story — just the swifts and swallows above me, squealing and wheeling around in the clear blue sky.
The book’s main character was a doctor. She had only 15 hours left to kill one of her patients — or else her kidnapped daughter would die. It’s set on the island of Jura in the Inner Hebrides. I was deep in my theories, trying to untangle which of the possible antagonists might be playing who, when I noticed Mr Vicious lying at my feet, relaxed and content.
He’d been shadowing me all day for some reason, and I didn’t mind it one bit. He was calm company, and good company too.
Of course, when his stomach started grumbling later in the afternoon, he let me know — with full-volume “I’m starving” cries that reminded me vividly of our boys when they were little.
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Thinking back to those early days of earning, I remember my Saturday job at the International Store in town. That job gave me my first real wage packet — cash I could spend however I wanted. Before that, I had a paper round (not Sundays) and a few coppers here and there, but that first pay felt like freedom.
And what did I choose?
Bread and cakes, mainly.
It felt like real independence — to buy enough food to feel full, to be in charge of what I ate. Looking back, it wasn’t height or school that made me feel grown-up. It was a trip to the bakery with my own coins in my pocket.
That might sound like a grim tale from childhood, but it wasn’t. We (Big Sis, Bro and Me) grew up without luxury, sure — but not without love or resilience.
And I’m proud of the man I’ve become.
So it must’ve been a good childhood, after all.
Thanks Mum and Dad. xx
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My pains are small.
The weather is fine.
The body is coping.
And My Darling is so kind.
All is good here at Chemo Central.
