Chill time. Not a day of decisions. A day to relax. It’s amazing what goes through your head when you’ve not got decisions to make.
A look in the mirror. The spots of afatinib side effects have gone. Not quite the complexion of a baby’s bottom but, once I’ve shaved, it’ll be the best it’s been in ages.
Paying a visit. No sign of cancer drug side effects. The painkillers are still in the system. This might be the closest I ever get to understanding the physical demands of childbirth.
Poached eggs and bacon. Got the latter perfect. Overdid the eggs. Will correct that for tomorrow’s breakfast. I’m unimpressed with the fresh orange juice I’ve brought with me.
Into the hot tub. My mind wanders back a year to my daughter’s wedding. Feelings of pride. And a relief at peace with ex mother in law and ex wife. A good day. Happy memories. They both seem happy now. Matt seems happy too. I hope they are.
I ponder Australia. I don’t have a plan to take to Oncobabe in three weeks to persuade her it’s a risk I need to take. I still want to go. But suddenly the fear of losing my flagship trip for the year seems less important. There will be more pondering.
A dead fly floats past me. I brush it into the overflow. No farm animals in the field. No red squirrels. Birds fly above, but no birds of prey today.
My mind moves to funeral planning. I need to familiarise my sister with my finances and friends. I need to ponder where Chri, Louise and Matt fit in to any plans. I don’t want to prepay, as that’s admitting defeat to the disease. I still fancy Stayin’ Alive playing as the congregation moves outside to breathe their collective sigh of relief or let out their unexpected tears. I really should act on this, but don’t feel ready to.
My Premium Bond prize has paid for bridge tolls in San Francisco. I miss Rachel being here with me. The sky is stubbornly grey, but the water is warm. Inside for a ham sandwich. Credit to Chris for throwing the ham in my trolley. Back to the hot tub.
An irritated thought that when the drug fails the pain returns. Again. A hopeful thought that something might change, a breakthrough, before it fails. A third miracle drug to keep me going.
I analyse my right leg. Still pins and needles. Still weak. I recall pulling the arms and legs off an action man as a kid. Voodoo. The right leg was never right on that toy afterwards. Now it’s getting its own back. Oldham have a Haitian goalkeeper. That was my mind linking my right leg to voodoo to Haiti.
Nothing has changed today. The thinking has drifted in and out. But I’ve made no decisions. And I’m happy for that.