Its is Wednesday and I wake up sore from my 28 day jab on Monday, it appears not to be easing. My partner goes to see her mother and I sip hot water before jotting a poem and then getting up.

480

I discover that
Anzac biscuit
travel well.
That toasting biscuits
were dipped 
in wine.
this is the kind 
of shit I fill
my head with 
while I wait.
There is no sign
of my new chemo.
No call, no date
and it grinds me down.
Every day a wasted 
one while I 
am eaten alive
by out of control cells.
Its a torture
of industrial health care
during which I dip 
my digestive
in my tea.

                                                       480  10-12-2025

I get up and make breakfast and then I up date my blood pressure spread sheet. With that done I down my morning meds and get on with more Christmas wrapping and organising for the festive season. This goes on all morning until until my partner returns and we lunch together. Finally I get to go to the post office with my partner and send parcels and the last remaining cards. The mail today brought a hospital letter but no the chemo appointment letter I was hoping for but the consultants letter to the GP summarising the last review and my decision. The afternoon is spent relaxing as I catch up on the crosswords and sorting out some more chores, and and yet more planning.

The evening comes around along with tea and I settle down to draft the blog. I’m still feeling sore but tomorrow I think I need to get to grips with some outstanding gardening and some final Christmas checking. Tonight there is of course football but most importantly the last episode of Shetland. Of course there are meds to take and then another night of interrupted sleep.