General status update
Hair: Afflicted by usual pre-chemo paranoia – will this be the dose
when the chemo finally hits the follicles? On plus side, Hair very much looking
forward to its forthcoming snood mini-break.
Nausea demon: back from Bilbao and boring for England re the genius of Frank
Gehry. Have suggested he apply for Mastermind with this as his special subject.
Chemo Muse: She can’t wait to gobble up the Dexamethasone – take those
steroids, hear her ROAR! - and set me to work.
Chemo Brian: Depressed – Dexamethasone is to him as Kryptonite is to
Superman. He likes drugs whose names begin with Benzo- Told him they may
well be on the agenda later in the week. .
Fatigue/weakness: anxiety trumps fatigue every time.
Sleep, lack of: That will start again tomorrow, after the steroids.
Anxiety level (1-10): Breathing deeply, trying to stay calm, even though Stan did tell me
right at the beginning that FEC 3 will be the worst one. And FEC 2 was Beyond
Horrible.
State of mind: Get thee behind me, Goa; the flights probably aren’t even
running, what with all the snow. A trip to the chemo ward tomorrow, or a 24 hour
wait in Heathrow airport? There are some things worse than chemo, and Heathrow
when all the flights have been cancelled is one of them.
In Gurkha Towers, 2 days after the Eve of St Agnes, and
on the Eve of FEC 3, the Anxiety Demon manifests itself to a troubled Fo, in
the form of Edgar Allen Poe’s Raven…
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and
weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of the cursed FEC chemo
lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a
tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber
door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my
chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than
before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my
window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery
explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery
explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt
and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days
of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped
or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my
chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber
door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if
bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee
here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land
enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I
implore -
Is it- is FEC
3 the worst one? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `After FEC 3, then 3 more.'
Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I
shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's
Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath
spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my
door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form
from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, ` After FEC 3, then 3 more.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still
is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber
door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is
dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his
shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on
the floor
Shall be lifted – ‘After FEC 3, then 3 more.'
