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.