I now feel able to write again which thrills me; of late the spirit has been very willing but the flesh unable to co-operate. So much has happened since my last blog that only now do I feel able to catch my breath and catch up with myself. The first two weeks passed in a haze of tests and the day finally came when I had my first chemo. I hadn't even attempted to sleep the previous night and consequently arrived the the hospital slightly unhinged and feeling very emotionally raw. T'was not an auspicious start, and when I finally staggered out four hours later, bewitched, bothered and bewildered, I should have headed straight for home and bed instead of to a wig appointment where I proceeded to select an assortment of wigs which when they arrive will will prove to be spectacularly unsuitable for the wearer, but depict with jaw dropping accuracy the deranged state of the wearer's mind. Oh dear...

I reacted very badly to the first chemo mainly due to my own stupidity; venturing out unsuitably clad in inclement weather, getting soaked in a rain storm etc., etc., which resulted in a chest infection and severe arthritis in my left hand and other dubious re-actions from a body at the end of its very long tether. I took this to be the template for future side efects and am delighted to report that I couldn't be more wrong and I'm sailing through my second treatment with the greatest of ease. Yippee!

It was only after my second treatment that I understood what had caused my previous response. In the three weeks before I left Africa, I was diagnosed with Carol the first week, Rusty died the second week and the third week, I had to put Snooze and Tossie into kennels and leave my depleted family and my beloved Africa for an unspecified amount of time, get to London and immediately immerse myself in the quest for Carol's chemo. And although I didn't realize it at the time, I had had no opportunity to grieve over the loss ...read more