Wednesday, chemotherapy and oncology review day. My partner takes her car for a service early so I rest and take my vitals. They are okay except the raised heart rate, which is becoming an established pattern and bothers me. I check my messages, social media and news feeds. At ten o’clock I get up and make breakfast and take my meds. After publishing yesterdays blog I spend some time writing notes for the oncology review and then make a start on drafting todays blog. As a diversion I try to mend the food refuse bin that once again the bin men have broken and left the parts in a heap on the pavement outside. What follows is a long wait for the oncology call, so I read some of my new Palestinian poetry book, The Palestinian Wedding, A Bilingual Reader of Resistance Poetry.

The oncologist rings early. My appointment was for 1:30pm but as their clinic is 12:30 to 2:30pm they ring up at anytime now. He asks how I am and I tell him that I am knackered, that I am breathless, my hands are increasingly numb, my gut is bad and my heart rate has increased by about 20%. We agree my bloods are okay, its me that’s not. He suggests we delay the next cycle by a week and that I get a new set of bloods and that we will talk next week at the same time. Once the call is over I am on the phone to the GP surgery. It’s bank holiday of course so the only time I can get some bloods is this Friday, it will have to do. It means going for my 28day injection at 8am and then going back at 11:40 to have my bloods done. I am hoping I can talk my jab nurse into taking my bloods as well, she has done it before. With the admin done I then have to shift every thing in my diary by a week, which means the potential end to chemo moves onto July 30th. It seems that there will be a few hurdles along the way. I really do not want to stop especially as my PSA is still falling, meaning the chemo is working. I hope that a reduction in dosage and the extra week of recovery time is all I need to get to the end.

When my partner returns from having her car serviced I help her draft an authorisation letter for her enduring power of attorney agreement I run off a few copies and so my partner can move this issue on with her mother. I read the paper and do the days crosswords before reading some more and drafting more of the blog. Amidst this I order a new food recycling caddie as the bin men today left ours in pieces on the drive. I am hopeful that the new one will arrive quickly.

The evening is a football evening as an English team is in the final of a European cup final. It is an unusual event so worth a watch. I will have one rest day before my 28 day jab, brought forward because of the Bank Holiday, and then another oncology review. The priority for me is to keep calm and keep my priorities straight. At the moment it feels like I have had a set back but that I can recover from it. All the cancer support sites talk about moving from treatment (not applicable in my case) to palliative care and explain the move from one state to another. I do not like the passivity of palliative care. Its just pain control and a comfortable death basically, I ‘m not ready for that, not yet and when I am I want the happy trippy drugs, the nhs needs to get the “good ” stuff out for me.

Tuesday and I wake up feeling rank. My partner brought me hot water and toast, which I consume alongside some paracetamol. I take my vitals, blood pressure is okay but my heart rate continues to be elevated. I rest as best I can and end up tapping out a poem on my phone.

531
It’s me tapping out bars
on my mobile
as I lay in bed
feeling shit and scared.
My heart rate up 
my energy low
this is a bad day.
I’ve downed the paracetamol
and now I wait on numbness.
Then, perhaps, then 
I’ll take my meds,
dress and try to be human.
Tomorrow I’ve a decision to make,
can I face a cycle 8?
I tell myself I’m not quitting
but it feels like that.
It doesn’t feel good
but I’ve no strength.
The cost is high
to see my PSA fall,
there is little left of me.
Friday is to be a double day,
28 day jab morning
chemo afternoon.
The thought of the aftermath
is a scary one.
This is not sustainable,
I need some respite 
but I need to fight,
what will become of me
if I rest?

							531 19-05-2026

Eventually I get up and spend time filling my dosettes for the coming two weeks. Because I am not sure if I am going to be doing Cycle 8 I omit the chemo days steroids. I take todays meds and then distract myself with drafting the blog. As I am doing this my eldest daughter returns from work and hands me the mail which includes a proper letter from a friend.

I spend the rest of the day staring into space listening to old episodes of “Just a Minute”. There is no energy in me and my gut is severely off so I drift into the evening and the final season of Bancroft. By the end of the evening I feel rank. I take my meds and go to bed craving sleep, which comes in fits and starts.

Sunday and I wake to the sound of young lungs being exercises in the early morning. I rise later and join the family for breakfast. I take my morning meds and settle down to play with my grandsons. They ae both a delight, one a fully functional and energetic toddler the other a young alert baby who is sitting up and taking it all in. He is very smiley and a well tempered young baby.

As the morning draws to a close there are naps to be had and feeds to be given before everything gets packed into the car ready for the journey home. Somehow everything gets fitted into the car and the small people are strapped into their safety seats followed by the adults. I wave them on their way till they are out of sight. My partner attacks the clearing up and I collapse in front of the TV to watch the climax of the international women’s rugby championship. I even managed to watch my local team thrash their opponent’s. The highlight was the English team overcoming the French, who started very well but gradually wilted under the prolonged power and skills of the English team. The evening meal was taken and then my partner and I finished watching the German spy drama which was our current viewing series. I finished my day watching football highlights, taking my meds and going to bed once the kitchen had been cleared.

Monday starts early, relatively, for me. I take my vitals and drink the hot water my partner brought me before she left to go and see her mother in hospital. I get up and get into my training clothes before eating breakfast and checking my messages and social media. It appears the world is as boring as it was yesterday, laced with the usual state violence and random senselessness of humanity, usually religion based or due to emotional stunted development. Of course human “thickness” is a major contributor to this unedifying soup of of daily inhumanity. I go to the garage to train. I first have to move all the stuff cluttering up the entry and the rowing machine. I really do not want to do this session but I strap myself in and set off for my 20 minutes. Its been 17 days since I last trained due to how crap this chemo cycle has made me feel. I do grind out the session but as I suspect the distance is under par. I am just glad that I get to the end.

After a quick drink of Lucozade I make the bold decision to shower. I am just drying myself down when the window cleaners turn up and ring the door bell. I ignore it and just rest wrapped up in towels until I have the energy to sort out clean clothes. My partner returns from her hospital visit and after a while we head for a garden centre.

It is a real pleasure to have a bacon roll and a black Americano made by someone else. My partner and I chat and discuss possible future remodelling of part of the house. We reach a tentative agreement and then go shopping for new plant pots and along the way pick up a new hanging basket for the front of the house. Once home I retreat to the recliner and begin to draft the blog. The evening meal is taken and then my partner and I search for a new drama series while we wait for the Tesco order to be delivered. Once delivered the goodies are squirrelled away and I head for bed feeling tired after todays efforts.

My blood results come in at 12:45am and they are good new. PSA down again, eGFR is holding up, Urea and Creatine still out of range but yet again fall towards the norm. Potassium is up slightly but maybe fizzy drinks and fresh orange juice do not help here. This is the reward for hanging on in there and doing the chemo rechallenge. I do have to get back to rowing each day before the next cycle. I am expecting that on my oncology review on Wednesday that I will get the go ahead for Cycle 8 as the bloods are good enough.

As I stayed up late last night I wake this Saturday morning quite late and eventually get up for breakfast to find the whole family in the garden cleaning the patio and planting out plants. I take my meds and draft the blog before starting my day. There is a cup final and the Eurovision song contest to negotiate today along with other sporting and domestic activities to be done.

The morning is full of grandchildren and my son in law power washing the patio. On top of that the garden guy arrived and mowed the lawn and did some superficial weeding. After some reading to my grandson and of course a sock hunt I draft a poem that came to me in bed as I was thinking about getting up to start the day after everyone else.

530
There is no medal.
No accolade or cheering
just because the PSA 
is down again. 
That’s what chemo
is supposed to do.
Its no good laying here 
being pleased with myself,
in the real world
of visiting family
and grandchildren 
it means nothing.
Its exhausting being toxic,
unable to sustain action,
tired after a few steps
and feeling useless.
Not being able to contribute, 
to carry my load
and add something
is an intolerable place
to be confined. 
So I try 
to be quiet 
and not to rock 
the boat 
or make work for others.
Somewhere in this
is the price
of the war for life,
the battle field 
that consumes me
to which I cannot 
surrender. 

							530 16-05-2026

There after I sink into mindless sport watching until the evening meal and of course the Eurovision song contest. Tonight is a night of meds and then an early night to make up for yesterdays long night wait for my blood results. As a footnote I add that the UK entry in the Eurovision song contest came last with 1 point. The general public failed to give a single point to the UK entry. Our single point came from Ukraine. All those anti tank weapons and we get one point.

Friday 7:30 and I am up in order to be ready to for my bloods at 8:40 at the GP surgery. My partner brings me hot water and toast, which I devour as quickly as I can before getting up and dressed. I take my morning meds and then head for my car to drive down to the GP. I do not have to wait long and I am soon called in by my regular vampire nurse. She is remarkable for speed and dexterity with which she takes blood. I am done very quickly and I am soon back home.

The morning is spent clearing away the accrued documents from the past few weeks in order to clear the decks before the arrival of my youngest daughters family. With chores done I write a poem and then start the draft of the blog.

529
Blood tests today
amidst the political dross
clambering over each other
to perfume imagined miracles
a million miles from reality.
It is illusion 
fuelled by ego
and greed.
The outside world
doesn’t work.
The people are not up to it
or at least the wrong people
are not.
Its a dance where I am the target.
They try to make me excited,
convince me to care,
to believe I am doomed
unless I buy their narrative and 
sell my soul to their madness.
From the banks of life 
It is just a procession of 
fools and deluded oafs 
entwined with each other
with ultimate failure 
the only outcome.
All the while I fight
to keep my head above media,
to ask the questions 
that children and philosophers
pose themselves. 
To challenge myself to be
a better person,
to live kindly, 
to find worth in the ordinary
and to take succour 
in being alive 
alongside the ever
changing change  
of nature. 
I do not think anyone 
will notice if I slip away
and take a quiet moment.

						529 15-05-2026

My youngest daughters family arrive complete with my two youngest grandsons. From then on its all young people energy and entertainment. A picnic type lunch and more play before the family go out for a walk in the village park and play area. I stay at home and rest taking a quick nap. On the families return there are drinks and play and baby management until its time for the evening meal. The family dine together until its the children’s bath and bed times. During the afternoon Amazon deliver my new poetry collection. The collection is titled The Palestinian Wedding: A Bilingual Reader of Resistance Poetry, collected and translated by A. M. Elmessiri. A glance at some of the poems tells me I am going to enjoy this collection.

Once the children are in bed and asleep the evening is filled with chat and TV and all the while I wonder if my blood results will come in on time, usually just after midnight. I feel tired and given that tomorrow is going to be a long day with a cup final and the Eurovision song contest, not to mention vigorous grandparenting activities, I may well give myself and early night and curb my curiosity about blood results until tomorrow morning. It will be night medications as usual and hopefully sleep. In all this I forego attending the monthly poetry stanza meeting tomorrow. No good saying family comes before everything if you don’t mean it.

Thursday and I wake into the day of the second Eurovision song contest and a friends daughters birthday. I check my messages and socials and then take my vitals, which remain good enough apart from my elevated heart rate. After some internet research on pre 2007 enduring power of attorney law I get up and dress. As some of my grandchildren are visiting tomorrow for the weekend I put my clothes away and then make breakfast. My morning meds get taken and then I have two days worth of crosswords to catch up on. There is a face to face call with my youngest daughter where we sort out details for the weekend visit. It was good to see my youngest grandson waking up in time to join in on the call. I rest through lunch and see my partner go off to see her mother in hospital with her brother. I listen to “Just a minute” on the radio and move on to draft the blog. The evening is already mapped out as tonight is the second semi final of Eurovision song contest. My contribution is going to be to print out score sheets for the family.

So its going to be a mindless evening during which I shall be drinking a lot of water as tomorrow I have to be up early and visit the GP surgery to have a set of bloods taken. It is these that will tell me if the awfulness of Cycle 7 has been worth it as evidence of a lowered PSA score. A lot needs to be thought about before I take the decision to go for cycle 8 on Friday the 22nd of May.

Wednesday I wake up feeling desperately tired. This should be a day with my partner but I wont make it. I do my vitals and eventually get up and make toast and take my meds. It throws it down with rain and hail until lunchtime when my partner an I go to the local garden centre for lunch. We get the restaurant area and find that there is a 30 to 40 minute wait for food. I cant do that. So my partner and I shop at the butchers counter and raid the grocery store area. We return home and I eat the cottage pie bought from the butchers for lunch. I am knackered and try to rest, listening to radio shows on my ear buds and phone. Eventually I retreat to the bedroom where I lay and finish reading The Buddha in the Attic. The weather closes in again with mire rain and hail. I get up for the evening meal before watching TV until its time to take my meds and go to bed.

I am no use to anyone like this, I’ve seriously consider quitting the chemo and everything else medical. I’m not sure I can face the upcoming chemo cycle 7 which falls on the same day as a 28 day injection later next week. I have bloods this Friday, so I will see what is happening to my PSA levels.

Tuesday and I wake after a disturbed night. I take my vitals and check my messages and emails. My partner brings me hot water and toast before she goes off to the gym. I get up and have a shower, take my morning meds and then get ready to go to the chiropodist. I drive for the first time in a while and arrive on time. I cannot be bothered to change out of my driving shoes and walkover to the chiropodist’s clinic. My chiropodist is a chatty person who gets on with my feet quietly and professionally. This is one of my great pleasures as by the end of the session my feet are feeling superb and refreshed. At the end of the session I pay my bill and book myself for my next session the day after my birthday. Something to look forward to.

I drove home as quickly as possible, not bothering to visit the co-op and took to the sofa to rest. My partner returned from the gym and we have lunch together before she goes to see mother in hospital. I continue to rest and listen to various radio shows, read Julie Otsuka’s The Buddha in the Attic and start to draft the blog. A friend rings me and we have a chance to catch up and chat about our families. The evening holds the joy of the first Eurovision Song Contest semi final. It is an opportunity to see the acts that are so appalling they are not suitable for the actual final competition. So once the evening meal is over the family will settle down with home made marking cards and choose which criteria to judge the acts by. Last year the quality of arm pit shaving was on such criteria. I shall be interested to see what we come up with tonight.

As it turns out I did not get to see all the Eurovision song contest. There are things to be sorted and organised. Eventually I take my night meds, do the blog, put the bins out and then go to bed

Monday and I wake feeling a bit better. I take my vitals and check my messages and news feeds before getting up and making breakfast. I take my morning meds and then begin work on the next poetry collection. I spend the morning starting the various sections of the collection. I have drafts of the most crucial parts which I can now up date and prepare for sending to the publisher to do the editing and proof reading. I need to think about a cover design soon, I am aiming to have the new collection out by the end of July. So far there are just over eighty new poems to go into the collection but there are at least six or seven weeks to go before the end of the Chemo Rechallenge so there will be more poems to add to this total. My intention is to get the editors working quite quickly on this project. A name for the collection might be tricky. At the moment it is named in line with the Cancer Years series and so it will be The Cancer Years: Chemo Rechallenge. Not very sexy but does what it says on the cover. I am open to suggestions and I guess once other people start editing the content new ideas for a tittle will come up.

Of more immediate concern is getting my sunflower seedings potted up and out. They have done well in the covered boxes up till now but they need planter to go into. They are purple “Teddy Bear” sunflowers so they should be notable addition to the garden.

My evening sees me finish watching Legends and then finishing off the blog for the day. Night meds taken I go to bed aware that tomorrow I have a chiropodist appointment.

Sunday a bad day. Paracetamol, rest and contain how I am. I use what I can to do so.

527
Its a wood at night
the dark is spider cold
and blinding. 
Trees form the boundary,
and at its centre a seat.
A fallen trunk, heavy on the ground.
Its inky, threateningly moving
in slow waves around me.
There are no intruding stars,
no moonlight beams
to give hope of sight
or sight of hope.
Wrapped hard in moleskin
confined by bible binding
stillness is fixed in body
and in the space. 
This is a living coffin,
velvet  lined and waiting for 
the final submission. 
Nothing moves or intrudes,
only the sense of dense 
darkness is present.
Here I sit and recite 
dark poetry,
silent verses,
soundless words,
nothing to disturb 
the woods dark. 
The poetry flows
thick and clear,
moving like a snake 
soundlessly. 
Strain your ears,
focus on the air,
but there is no disturbance,
not a hint of sound 
or vibration. 
This is dark poetry,
spoken silently, heard profoundly
and felt in every fibre
of soul and being.
In this forest depth
is where I reside,
the place of despair
where being is mute
but everything is jet clear.
I sit and silently 
recite here 
in the silent black.
This is dark poetry,
silent, undeniable 
and final. 							527 10-05-2026 

There is football and napping and finally night meds and a retreat to bed.