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.

Saturday. I wake after a reasonable night and check my messages and other social media stuff. My partner brings me hot water and I do my vitals, which are okay. Once my partner has left to go and see her mother in hospital I get up and make breakfast, take my meds and empty the dishwasher. I scribbled a poem before I got up and I think it reflects one of the dangers that face me in the coming months.

526
Bed cannot be 
my safe space.
It’s tempting,
cosy, warm
and makes no
demands.
I could lay here,
drift, reflect and 
write.
But this siren state
will drain me
of energy and will,
wrapping me up 
and cutting me off
from the world.
Out there is where
my time needs living,
where risk and reward
bring colour to a life
hard fought for.

					526 09-05-2026

Its almost noon as I start to draft the blog knowing that I am about to watch a football match followed by some international rugby. This morning I took some prophylactic paracetamol to see if it helps me to keep going, I guess I am about to find out.

The paracetamol did indeed help. I watched a lot of rugby and football during the afternoon and spent a bit of time looking at what is flowering in the garden. Despite being slightly over grown the garden is producing a lot of colour and flowers.

My evening is filled with the final episodes of a detective drama and football highlights. I take my meds, update the blog and get myself to bed. I am hoping that tomorrow I can pull together the pots I need for my sunflowers.

Friday and I wake up and feel reasonable, but alas this is short lived. I take my vitals, which are okay, and then I check my messages, emails, and social media. The news feeds are full of the local elections, I can’t get excited, the journalists are just so over the top, every thing is hyped, its sad really. I book a Tesco slot for Sunday and throw things into the basket before finally getting out of bed. I cook myself a late breakfast and then find I am already out of energy. My partner goes out with her brother to buy a TV to take to her mother in hospital.

I try to rally and sort out some deliveries and then spend time laying on the floor clearing out debris from under my end of the sofa. Amongst the retrieved objects are a knife and a chocolate cream. It appears the Borrowers had no interest in my lost debris. I keep an eye on the election as I start to draft the blog. I am assuming that I will be watching the hundred birthday celebrations of David Attenborough. Personally I am more interested in his collection of Picasso ceramics that his family picked up when they were on holiday near Picasso’s studio.

I cook my famous one pot smoked paprika chicken and put it in the oven for tea. I rest back on the sofa until the local florist delivers the flowers I ordered for my partner earlier in the day. Shortly afterwards my partner returns home to her flowers. The evening arrives, the family eat and I watch several episodes of a European detective drama. I take my meds and go to bed, I feel exhausted, this cycle is being rough.

Thursday and I wake earlyish. I start by thinking that I am feeling okay and I have a flush of optimism. My partner brings me hot water before she goes to have her hair done. I take my vitals, which are okay and then I do all my messages, emails and news feeds. I get up and make breakfast still feeling that I might be entering the “more chipper” phase of the chemo cycle. I head for the garden to do soem of the things on my “to do ” list. I Open up the Shed and get ready to write, lighting the candles and tidying the desk top. Before I settle down to something creative I re install the washing line that had been taken down to give the garden builder badgers free reign of the garden while putting in the decking. With that in place I fill the bird and squirrel feeders. I am now knackered and need to spend time on the swing seat to recover.

I go to the writing Shed and think about writing letters but I do not have the energy so I decide in stead to make notelets and draw ink pictures in them. I manage three of these before I run out of energy. I wrote a small poem while I rested between cards. My life is a patchwork of small endeavours at the moment.

525
So here I am
in my Shed.
A week into 
Cycle 7.
Its snail pace
for me.
Do a bit,
rest a while,
try a bit more,
definitely rest.
A life full
of small words,
try, rest, bit,
stitched together
by will to live.
Its a patchwork
of little acts
held by ditches
and sewn by hand,
guided by a mind
that will not go down. 
					255 07-05-2026

Amazon deliver my new silver chain for my “Backbone” pendant that I wear. I had ripped the pendant off in the middle of the night when it felt like it was restricting my neck so I needed to replace the chain. I was struggling putting it back on when my partner returned and put it on to me. We eat lunch together before she goes off with her brother to their mother in hospital. I lock up the garden shed and the writing Shed and retreat to the warmth of the sofa in the lounge where I do the days crosswords (without Google) and then draft the days blog so far. By four o’clock I am seriously flagging and think about a nap but do not. I feel I am thirsty but cannot face drinking, everything I try tastes foul.

My evening is going to be quiet, there is football to watch, books to read and numerous episodes of various dramas to be watched. All I need to do is eat, take my meds and sleep until I have enough energy to train again. I thought today might be that day but it was not to be, perhaps tomorrow.

Wednesday and I thought I was doing okay until I woke up at about 9:30. I seem to have slipped back to sleep after waking up at a reasonable time. My partner brings me hot water to start my day with and then after a chat she goes to see her mother in hospital with her brother. They are keen to get there early and miss the morning physio group. I sympathise with this, the last thing I would want to be doing is a load of chair bound exercises alongside the residents of a rehab ward. I check my socials, emails and messages and then look to see if there is a decent football match in TV tonight. There is! After all the internet nonsense I take my vitals to find that my blood pressure is reassuringly normal but my heart rate is elevated. I need to have a word with my heart to see what it thinks its up to. It may just be the response to being poisoned of course. In a flush of energy I shower, which is always a good lift and an instant gratification for having the foresight to install a grab handle over the bath.

I have a very late breakfast and take my meds before sitting down and casting up my journal for the next month. Every day I record what goes in and out of my body and the exercise it does. Its an adapted version of a training diary really but modified to reflect my condition. It enables me to keep track of what effects the various medications are doing to me. Of course in the current situation its all about the chemo therapy. It is my attempt to keep some sort of empirical data that I can use to inform me of how I am coping. Of course the biggest indicator is my PSA level but I only get this once a cycle (every 21 days) so the additional data is useful to keep me focussed and to explain why I might be feeling or functioning in a particular way. It is reassuring that my weekly weight entry on a Sunday morning shows that my weight is stable. I am of course over weight, the steroids partly responsible for this of course, but I am not about to diet when its a struggle to find food that I actually want at the moment.

My partner returns from her hospital visit and we, along with our eldest daughter, go to the local garden centre for lunch. I went for chilli con carne but it arrived with out the “con carne”. Before returning home I bought passata and French bed so that I could make eggs in purgatory later. Once home I rest and the spend ages trying to get access to my website. I spend hours trying al to no avail. In the end I give in and set about cooking eggs in purgatory. For a first go it turns out okay except I was a bit heavy handed with the chilli flakes. The evening is spent watching more A Taste for Murder and gleaning the featured Italian recipes. I of course keep an eye on the football, it turns out Arsenal will be playing PSG in the final later on in the month. I take my meds and go to bed. I am hoping that from tomorrow I start to recover.