Five and counting

It's strange how similar this whole thing is to pregnancy and childbirth. Take, for example, the fact that each time I get nuked, I appear to have completely forgotten how awful it is. And this number 5 has been no exception. Since Saturday I have been lying almost immobile in a state of sweating, jittering hell - punctuated by nightmares of the Elm Street kind which blur into a kind of purple haze reality and prevent me from getting any real rest. I know that the worst is over when I manage to get through the night without changing my pillowcase. And that day is today - and not a moment too soon - given the number of real life crises that await my attention.

Apart from the fact that I am now three birthday parties down in buying gifts etc (all Luc's- he will have no friends soon) and that it is his birthday next week (only one present so far and no wrapping or card), and that my Xmas cake is no more than a large bag of dried fruit in the under stairs cupboard - tomorrow I have to take Emily to Angel to have a full set of tram lines fitted top and bottom turning her into a metal mouth for the forseeable future. Given that she is not good at handling pain at the best of times, never mind ongoing discomfort, this prospect is not filling me with joy. Luckily Mum is here as usual to hold my hand through the proceedings - and drive the car as my chemo brain would give the insurance companies something to worry about.

We also have no hot water without using the £400 a minute emersion heater - and getting a plumber out to sort this problem seems like a cruel twist of fate at a time in my life when plumbing comes low on my list of priorities.

Anyway - I intend to fully reactivate myself before the next and last chemo (on 22nd November) and make the most of every day. When so much of your life is so deeply unpleasant, very small things can take on an almost utopian pleasure. Eating a bowl of noodles at Wagamama is high on my list of celestial pleasures - as is walking in sunlight and looking at purple pansies next to red cyclamen - none of these things would have brought quite the deep sense of well-being and satisfaction that they do now - and for this I am truly thankful.