The study into the Patrician condition continues, as the haze starts to clear. The deep blue funk seemed to max out at rehearsal on Monday night, when my mood reached its lowest, and I ended up being properly ill for the first time. It wasn't a great rehearsal. My attitude did not help. However, to be made actually nauseous by the amps' feedback- well, that was a singular experience.
To what extent do apologies ever help? I can tell that there is a shift afoot, because I re-read that last furious and futile post, and am sorry for it. For the last four days, I had not cared. Does regret mean that I will soon be feeling better? What will better look like, anyway? Will I be any cuddlier?
Time to tuck the demons back away, definitely. They make a terrible mess on the carpet, and never put their toys away when they throw them from the pram. The sun is coming up, we have the day off, and I am going to Seoul with a couple of the friends who wait out the rollercoaster ride patiently, and still pick up when I call afterwards.
To be fair, most of you do. Thank you. Who knew that the people who would suffer most through my chemo would be everyone around me?
What else is new? I've had a long talk with little brother Bert about the impeding visit from home, and we've decided that he and Mum should go ahead and book the tickets for the 20th of October, but take out cancellation cover in case the oncologist decides that she wants to cow the tumour into submission for a while longer. We who have no control are attempting to stick a pin on the fate map. Bert will stay for two weeks, and Mum for a month. I think we will all soon learn how small this apartment is. However, the planners amongst us need to do something- anything- to start moving this wagon forward. I'm looking forward to being on the other side of so many things- and while it might sound like the family visit is one of them because I'm being a jerk, that isn't strictly true. I might belly-ache, but it's in part because I'd like Bert and Mum to visit when I am healthy and when they don't feel like they have to. It would be great to have Bert here when I can play properly and get him into all kinds of trouble- not when I have to be stuck in hospital. It would be lovely to show Mum all the wonderful weirdness around here, and to take it nice and slowly so that she can savour the adventure. She always wanted to travel, and it is a shame that her first trip outside the English-speaking world has to be while I am not well enough to really make it brilliant for her. On the plus side, though, she will see that I ain't dead yet. That will put her mind to rest.
We just had two days of PD at school; nicely done. I didn't learn much new from it, but remember that I am getting pretty long in the tooth. I also did a course in adolescent psychology last spring, and was able to be one of the smug guys at the back nodding knowledgeably and indulging myself in attempting to win all the demonstration games. I say 'games'. We all know they're not games, not really. Not when someone ELSE thinks they might win! The presenter was entertaining, with just enough irritating catch-phrases to make me gently judgmental (and that word has no 'e'? Seriously?) The breakdown in my internal monologue was not dramatic enough for me to cause too much offense, and he read my body-language well enough to avoid using me in a demonstration of adolescent ennui. It was a little comical. People could see him heading towards me, ready to rub my head or nudge/poke/wrestle/lion-cub-on-the-Serengeti-rough-house, and there was a kind of collective intake of breath and tension spike all around the room. That, combined with the pulsating radioactive psychic force-field that I was emanating, somehow caused him to veer to the right suddenly, and unleash said demonstration on Catherine instead. Really should send her a card. Her presence spared me a prison sentence. Funny how many people commented on it afterwards.
A note-worthy side-effects development: having the extra week between the last two chemo cycles resulted in a sudden hair re-growth. For a couple of days, my eyelashes were visible again, and my eyebrows started to thicken up. They've all fallen out again since, never fear, but how interesting that the patterns of growth are so quickly restored. Makes me pause for a moment to consider how vital it is that the tumour is completely eradicated. If any remains, it will simply grow back. Yes, I know, it seems obvious. It is not so clearly illustrated, though, until one sees eyelashes where there were none the previous day.
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