I wonder is that a side effect specific to the 2nd dose of Taxol…? If so, the next 10 will be interesting – who knows where I may end up at that point!?!

It was fine today – I had lovely company, I  slept for pretty much the whole actual chemo (yes, I was a barrel of laughs), I avoided dick head doctors and saw lovely nurses. I love being able to countdown the chemo’s this way – the fact they are weekly really is so much better on every level. Currently sitting on a train with an older couple next to me in the quiet zone. They love it because I don’t think they’ve spoken to each other in around 30 years…

Onto the life evaluation. When I first went to the Marden I saw the lovely surgeon – Fiona someone. Neither her nor us (The Man was there, not me and my other personality) had any idea why the protocol insists you have to see the surgeon first…since she can do nothing other than refer you to the oncologist. Just for a change I digress…we were taking and I spoke about work, hectic life and so on. She listened and said ‘this cancer is a warning shot’. Defining moments – she told me that it was Stage 2, not 3 as I had thought and that it was  curable. Major messages. And that it was a warning shot. 

I haven’t had leave since I started with IMC last December. I had the previous month off to move my family to the UK from Lebanon, having been told mid move I had no job to go to anymore. So not much of a break. I was meant to be on leave from 22 Dec to 3 Jan – but all hell had broken loose and I have vaguely managed about 4 consecutive days actually off. Today, chemo day, I was meant to have 2 telecons and have just written a long mail because I missed the second telecon as I was sleeping. And the work is bullshit. July-Sept I was round the clock to stand up a major emergency operation into Syria – that had meaning to me and helped me through my cancer diagnosis. But that actually hasn’t happened – I set it up but donors and investigations into events before July have put things at a standstill. So now I am again dealing with HQ, risk aversion and utter crap which will likely continue to varying degrees. I could go on. But even as I am writing I see the insanity.

I am recovering from cancer. I have a second chance – I have a warning.  Yes I need money to live, but if earning that money kills me, it’s fairly bloody pointless. I need to rest. I need to bring joy into my life as much as I can. I need to do things that make me happy, truly make my heart sing. I need to be around people I love and who love me. I need to be creative. I need to stay alive. 

Fuck, I feel another cliff jump minus a parachute coming on.