Wednesday and I wake up feeling groggy again so I take my time to do my vitals and and check my cyber litter on my phone. The only thing I find is an email from the Americans with the first full draft of my second poem collection, The Travelling Years. I get up and make breakfast and then retreat to the sofa donning my “I am Out! baseball cap to start the detailed edit of the draft book. I find that there are a lot of issues with the draft. The editors have used the first line of every poem as the tittle and in some cases omitted the line from the poem itself. It is a bit of a mess and so I get my head down and work my way thorough it all. Before long my partner is standing in front of me with a note saying “Do you want a bacon sandwich?” It proves my “I am In” and “I am Out” hat system works. I give a thumbs up and soon I am eating a bacon sandwich.

My partner goes to see her mother and I continue to edit the draft. I get calls from a friend who is out and about preparing Easter for her family and trying to balance all the elements of a young family life and returning to work. It is really good to hear hear her out and about as I know what an effort it is and how much rest she will need to recover on a day to day basis. I finally finish the editing and send it attached to as polite an email as I can. I breath a sigh of relief and get myself together to walk down to the chemist to collect her antibiotics. When I get there I arrive in the middle of several drugs deliveries, unfortunately the drugs I had come to collect, and was told would be there, are not. They try to ring another pharmacy at the next village but they do not have any either, I by a potion for a sore mouth and take them at their word that the antibiotics will be there tomorrow. I walk home feeling ropey and deliver the potion and the news to my eldest daughter.

I make a drink grab a doughnut and do the crosswords, slowly, feeling less than bouncy but I persevere until success is mine and my partner returns. I start to draft the blog but I find I get restless and have difficulty continuing. The effort of the editing has got to me and I can do no more. I slip into evening. The evening sees me become addicted to Designated Survivor. Basically the Capitol Hill gets blown to bits and kills the President and both houses of parliament leaving the Designated Survivor, the minister for housing, to become president. Four episodes I watch before downing my chemo meds, help clear the kitchen and go to bed clutching my Hiro Arikawa book. I’m fascinated to see if the Americans can work as fast as I can.