Saturday, 20 August 2011

Chemo does what it says on the tin

First of all, I must honour that great English cliché "mustn't grumble". My wife returned to the hotel to take over care from my brother and we were able to watch the wonderful first of two Proms Concerts concentrated on the music of Brahms. His Third Symphony, composed after the invention of the internal combustion engine, and the mighty First Piano Concerto, written 20 years earlier when such things were unheard of, are still ringing on my ears, all driving rhythms and lush melodies.

This morning I find myself weaker than ever, every task an effort. We will shortly be going over to Ambi Care and I am going to discuss admission with the team. I have now had diarrhoea for two days; my appetite is hanging in there, but greatly reduced; everyday smells threaten to turn my stomach; cytarabine has given me a rash that shows no sign of abating; melphalan has given me a sore throat.

Mustn't grumble: my stem cells are back in my system and rescue is on the way. This is a statement of faith; right now the concrete experience of deep malaise is asserting itself.

Not sure if I will be able to see tonight's second Brahms Prom, but it would be mighty medicine.

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