My friend Paul McAuley, who went through a much harder regimen than mine, considerately warned me that chemo is cumulative––the effects build up. In my case, as the effects build up, the cancer dies off. I got no complaints on that score. Go, chemo, go–die, cancer, die!
This cheer comes to you from the woman-shaped pancake under the anvil.
Certain side effects, less common and/or previously minimal, have intensified and asserted themselves. My ears have taken to ringing, usually when I’m in the loo. And lately, I’m in the loo a lot. In the past, I’ve been told once or twice that I was full of sh!t. In the past, I may have been; not any more.
The metallic taste has returned––Hi, I’m back, didja miss me? Nope, sure didn’t.
I want to bounce around central London, stuff my face with sushi, and enjoy a leisurely bus ride home. If I could get up off the sofa and get dressed, I would. Even if I had to stop and puke on the way to the bus stop.
I actually wrote a piece of short fiction last month and I did it just in time; this month, it would take a hell of a lot longer to write half as much.
But this is not a list of complaints. Okay, it is, but I’m not really complaining. This is the shape I’m in right now. I wish I could do more to counter it but I just don’t have it in me right now.
At times like this, the best––only––thing you can do is let go and let anvil. (The original expression is ‘Let go and let God’, but I’m keeping it secular here; be glad we have these freedoms.) When you’ve been told you’re getting better, it’s disappointing not to feel that way. But this is just how things are now. Later will be different.