Archie is watching the sunset from his deckchair. I try to entice him with a piece of sardine but he’s not moving yet. There is a time and a place…and right now he’s enjoying the last of the rays. I join him. Not on his chair mind. He likes his
The first round of Xeloda tablets are done and dusted. I have a week off, before the next chemo fortnight begins. I didn’t want to take these pills. This journey is stretching out and my patience is waning. But I complied. And apart from a slight headache and some tummy
Bunkering down seems like the most sensible thing to do right now. And for a social butterfly like me, that’s pretty drastic. Archie is delighted by my decision. His gait has more swagger than before, (if that’s possible) and he’s demanding extra treats and cuddles – on his terms of
“No supermarkets, no hugging,” my doctor reminded me. Right. That’s easy enough. Most people know the drill. Cancer patients do air kisses and virtual hugs. I am a hugger by nature. I often have to check myself and yes, sometimes I forget. I feel on top of the world, (mostly)
Last night, the smell of roast chicken brought Archie running into the kitchen. Apparently he’d been missing it, ’cause his excitement was tangible. I’m not sure how many different meows there are but I’m pretty sure the little hunter used them all. He alternated between calling and purring while the
“We’re winning. Don’t drop the baton!” (Dr N) The right words at the right time. I must admit, I’d spiralled down in the last few weeks. But I’m back up. At the eleventh hour my body came to the party and sorted itself out. Of course, I would have liked
Okay, so here’s the thing. I’ve been on this journey since the beginning of August 2019. And although it’s been a roller coaster ride, I’ve kept myself pretty much upbeat and managed to live in the moment. I’m still doing that. It’s the only way to survive. But it’s the
