Sunday was a slow day of walking in the local park and preparing for Mondays jab, filling the car and checking the tyres and watching a rugby match. Of course there was the Strictly result to thrill to but apart from that not a lot happened.
Monday is a far more interesting day. I am up early in order to shower and then make my way to the GP surgery for my 28 day jab. It goes well but it is in my right side which historically tends to give me more jip than the other side. I get home and I have a sudden flurry of activity which includes booking some one to come and mend our ailing dishwasher. My partner and I go to the gym, she to train and me to eat bacon rolls and do the days crosswords. It is a relaxing time until we head back home. Once again there are things to be organised including a birthday stay at a Spa for my partners birthday. A friend rings adn I have the luxury of a conversation out side the family. It is really good to catch up with my friend and hear how her family is doing and how Christmas is creeping up on us both. By mid afternoon I start to type up some poems, ramblings really, but I am very aware that I am flagging as my energy is leaving me and I am becoming more and more sore at my injection site. Here’s a couple of poems that I typed up.
416
It’s a universe away
The woman playing tennis
While the sports club lounge natters.
There are baristas forced to serve
me fruit tea.
Legging clad exercisers passing through
like migratory birds, with
stick thin legs they stride
by basking sofa bound walrus
and torpedo seals.
Somewhere these fowl flutter
and then bathe in marble baths
and showers warmed by heating
not paid for by them.
Perched upon my rock
with a head full of young sirens
I hear music and order flowers
for memories still cherished.
I feel like the elephant
but I am more perplexed
by how quickly the hibiscus tea
can chill and become insipid ink.
I missed that amongst the ant hill
being poked with a stick
and the scurrying became escape.
Time for more go cold quickly
Rosie Lee and a giant cookie
while I wait for my mate
to return to me.
416 21-10-2024
418
Dylan Thomas
staggers out
from a days
labour.
“three words”
he mutters.
That’s one
“bible black bat”.
Can’t help feeling
the lazy bastard
could have managed
more.
418 21-10-2024
I stop typing up poems because I am now feeling rank. It is increasingly difficult to do anything and all I want to do is curl up into a ball as I start to get cold and shiver like a junkie doing cold turkey. It is as my body has has finally decided that it does not want the 28 day jab in it and is reacting to it as if is a foreign body. I manage to watch the final episode of Paris Has Fallen before going to bed and laying there shivering. My normal night meds are taken but I am reluctant to take anything else until I’ve been in bed for two hours when I resort to taking paracetamol. The rest of the night is a restless, shivery experience.
Tuesday and I wake late still feeling like a withdrawing junkie and lay there trying to form some sort of strategy to get through the day ahead. First thing is to try and book a Christmas delivery slot at Tesco. By the time I get to log in all the slots have gone and the closest I can get is Saturday 21st. Just one of the practical ways this bloody cancer fucks up life. Eventually I get up, have breakfast and then finish off the typing up of some poems and drafting up the blog. I ‘m feeling rank and I am aware that there is a list of jobs that need doing, but really do not feel well enough to do them.
Of all the things I need to do I manage to wash up the pots and put the bins out for tomorrow. I then fall asleep on the recliner, so that when I wake up it is dark, my body still feeling grim. Basically I am sitting it out until the Tesco delivery rocks up and then I shall eat and take myself off for an early night. My body just needs to pull itself together. This is keep it simple time, Tesco in, pasta eaten and now utter rest. I hate this, this is cancer fucking me up.
