This in between Christmas & New Year period is always a bit of a blur. The normal week is suspended and all the days blur together. I've just come through my third spell of chemo and so the last week or so has been strange anyway. I was OK until day 4 (Saturday?) when I got ill. I managed to take all five doses of chemo without spewing them up and I'm on the road to recovery again. This illness is strange. It's like six illnesses one after the other. Take pills, feel ill, get better. Take pills, feel ill, get better. In one respect I'm no different to how I was in October, which is different from, say, recovering from an operation or a broken leg. Then there's the "Next time I'll know what to expect so I'll be better prepared" syndrome. Which basically means putting everything on hold. You're either recovering from the treatment or getting ready for the next dose.
We once visited Portland Bill, near Weymouth in Dorset. Chris was about 18 months old and we remember that this was the time when he turned almost overnight from a baby to a toddler. I also remember carrying him on my shoulders along a street and forgetting to duck under a branch of a tree, so he copped a faceful of leaves. He's taller and heavier than me now, so I hope he doesn't hold a grudge.
Anyway, we visited Portland Bill. It was foggy that day and the foghorn at the lighthouse was sounding. I recall standing near the lighthouse. When the foghorn sounded it drowned out everything. The earth shook. It was impossible to think. Then it stopped and it was heaven for a few seconds. Then the fear of another blast on the foghorn began. The next seconds of silence were spoiled by the oncoming dread of the oncoming noise. When it started it was as bad as before. Each time it sounded was like the first time. It made no difference whether I knew when it would start or not. Eventually we left and went back to Weymouth, never to return. I couldn't stand the sound, or the anticipation of the sound.
I was reminded about that when I was lying in bed this morning. Actually, chemo isn't that bad as long as I take care of myself and don't get tired. I can cope. I wouldn't cope with living near a lighthouse with a foghorn. Ever.
Do you know the joke with the punchline "Tea break over. Back on your heads!"?