|Mental preparations at 7:30am for Round 3|
My summary of symptoms was completely normal, and she already had the antidotes laid out on the bench. These girls don't miss a trick.
She opened my chest-pipe and primed me with a large syringe's worth of hiccup serum. With just one 'hic', I reckon I'm starting to build my credibility in this hidden underground chemo culture (it's actually on the 5th floor, out of the lifts, turn right, 2nd office on the left - the one with the wonky oil paintings and angel/cherub statues all over the place).
Mo & Ellie waved me a cheerful goodbye and went of for a nice walk around the botanical gardens next door.
As soon as the first drips of my cocktail hit my veins, I passed out. Small nurse woke me up every 40 minutes for a blood-pressure test, and precisely swapped my chemo bottles according to Dr Karmen's precise schedule. I had many vague pisses at vague times.
I woke up alert some hours later with a craving for U2. St Bono's lyrics in 'Walk on', 'Kite' and 'Sometimes you can't make it on your own' took on new meaning, and small nurse discretely brought me a box of tissues. Cancer nurses must see a lot of tears.
Macho defences down, in for a penny, in for a pound ... 'Time' by Pink Floyd massively influenced my life, and I've hardly frittered a day since I first heard it 25 years ago. Choriocarcinoma has made me shorter of breath, and God only knows how many days closer to death. I was pulling tissues like a magician pulls hankies from a hat. The segue into 'The great gig in the sky' http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7NyO9NPZbQ was divine. How those 3 women express so much about life and death in 4 minutes and 47 seconds - without saying a single word - I will never know. I'm just so glad they do.
|Wait 'til you see the main course!|
Moniek, yet again, saved the day with her beautiful smile and a chilled pint of some healthy hippy drink. Small nurse said the big boss wanted to see me before I left, and my heart sank.
Dr Karmen studied my fan of papers on her desk and pushed her tortoiseshell specs upwards. She wants to consult with some eminent colleagues about my exceptional progress. I seem to be whacking Chorio so fast that she's considering reducing my 9-week programme to 6. Wow. Chorio must be KO'd, and we can't take any chances with an 8-count, but I don't appear to be a typical opponent. Even if I stay on the original 9-week programme, the fact that she's even considering this approach has given me a huge boost. Watch this space.
She enquired about my opinions on how this remarkable situation had arisen. I didn't need much time to think: 'I've got strong will-power, a firm faith in God, superb doctors and nurses, and my family and friends are cheering me on'. 'Hmmmm', she nodded in agreement, 'we should talk about this more another day' and shook our hands as we rose from our seats. Back at the apartment, Moniek fed me veggie burgers and switched on some film with Nathalie Portman in different ballet frocks - and I forgot about cancer for 90 minutes.
The time has gone, this blog is over, thought I'd something more to say ...