Day 18

Day 18 - except it isn't because you are unlikely to read this on Monday 26th September. But with that info you'll be able to work out the numbers. They said that the side effects would begin to kick in when I was through the first 14 or so days. They weren't wrong.

For a few days now I've been retiring to my bed like some frail consumptive from a Victorian novel. Ever since undertaking a ten mile walk along the Grand Union canal last Wednesday with some former work colleagues, I've been experiencing flu-like symptoms. Whether it was/is flu or not, I'm not sure but of the list of side effects I was warned to expect, fatigue, a strange chemical taste and a yellowing complexion are all now in evidence.

The odd thing is that although I know the drugs are responsible for these unpleasant changes there is absolutely no option but to continue to take the source - it seems very counter intuitive. Diana's take on this is to say that as I feel worse I can reassure myself that the drugs are working. I see her point but............

I'd like to add to my occasional list of ethereal experiences (see The Beauty in Brum, 13/7) the pleasure I derived from accessing Snow Hill Station at the end of our canal walk from Livery Street. Arriving on the elevated open platform (not the oppressive, gloomy area under the overhang) I was delighted by the opportunity it afforded to scan the city to the north and east and to watch the continual stream of traffic flowing up and down Great Charles Street/Queensway. In bright autumn sunlight I can recommend it - but it's always possible that you may need, first, to have your acuity sharpened by the onset of palliative care.

There have been other high-points. Stephen, soon to reach the age of 36 years (for those of you who remember the light-haired 3 year old in his John Lennon NHS specs) flew in from the States for a week' stay . He left yesterday. The idea had been that I would drive him to Heathrow but given my return to bed, it didn't seem like such a good idea by Saturday afternoon.

My friend Gerd, asks if my positive approach, from his reading of the blog, is a true reflection of my feelings. It's a good question. The answer is, 'not really'. I write for the person who's face I cannot see and who may not wish to read of sadness and despair.

There's one thing about which I will admit to feeling sad; the fact that my longstanding allotment buddy, Geoff, has also been diagnosed with cancer and it appears (though this awaits confirmation) that the primary tumour is in the kidney. I'm not saying I'm more upset by his experience than my own - but the one opens a tap to the other. Bear us both in your best wishes and prayers. There is still more to come before this blog is done.