Quoth the Raven ‘After FEC 3, then 3 more…’

Day 44

 

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,

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.'