What's love got to do with it?

Day Two

General status update:
Side effects: none as yet, but check back this evening
Hair: still attached (see above)
Anxiety level (scale of 1-10): has expanded into a huge Black Hole, and is threatening to swallow up the Entire Universe.
State of mind: On standby - retreated into protective self-induced coma
 

What’s love got to do with it?

 
EVERYTHING.

Love came to find me, quite unexpectedly, in my remote Aegean idyll.

 Love, via the unlikely medium of Twitter, came knocking at the door of the Camel Barn Library, and refused to go away. 

Love dragged me back to London, kicking and screaming, and deposited me in a mansion block in Hammersmith. 
 

And Love took a Very Dim View Indeed when the Grim Reaper came to call, and I expressed my intention of going off meekly into the sunset, hand in hand with the tall skinny dude with the black hood and the HUMONGOUS scythe. 
 

Love wasn’t having ANY OF IT. 

Love said ‘You are DOING THE CHEMO. You have a responsibility to me, now. You are going to do whatever it takes to increase your chances of staying here, and growing old with me. The chemo will be horrible, but it won’t kill you – but if the cancer comes back, it almost certainly will. GET A GRIP’. 

Love, unfortunately, has an override function: passion trumps reason, every time.

T’was ever thus.

Love has got a lot to bloody well answer for, in my opinion.