Medical week comes round again. It is like transfer deadline day - get everything done by the end of tomorrow, because then the window of opportunity slams shut for a while.
We see the Macmillan doctor, Dr D. We talk about the effects of the chemo, and she draws me a back-of-an-envelope diagram of what chemo is doing. The bottom (x) axis is time, and the side (y) axis is number of cancer cells. Dr D explains that each treatment should attack the bad cells (as well as my useful ones, like platelets, and white and red blood cells), although they might start to re-multiply as we get to the end of the three weeks.
I point out - jokingly - that I like the look of the graph Dr D has drawn, as after the fourth treatment it seems to show that there are no cancer cells left. She looks at me sympathetically, and explains very gently that it isn't accurate. I know, and I'm not being serious. I know this isn't going away. But I have to joke about it, even if, somewhere in the distance, the clouds couldn't be much darker.
Later this afternoon is my second CT scan - to try to work out the effect chemo is having. More warm iodine. Tomorrow is the pre-chemo blood test, x-ray and talk with Doctor G. Finally Wednesday is Chemo session 1.3, and all the anti-sickness drugs invented.
Before all of this, we see Mrs M. I may have to ban people being nice to me, concerned about me. Everyone is, in their own way, but there is something in Mrs M's manner - she tells me I look so much better, she will do anything to help, and is full of energy and vigour - that sets me off. Hardened as I am, I have to walk away a bit quicker than normal.
We see the Macmillan doctor, Dr D. We talk about the effects of the chemo, and she draws me a back-of-an-envelope diagram of what chemo is doing. The bottom (x) axis is time, and the side (y) axis is number of cancer cells. Dr D explains that each treatment should attack the bad cells (as well as my useful ones, like platelets, and white and red blood cells), although they might start to re-multiply as we get to the end of the three weeks.
I point out - jokingly - that I like the look of the graph Dr D has drawn, as after the fourth treatment it seems to show that there are no cancer cells left. She looks at me sympathetically, and explains very gently that it isn't accurate. I know, and I'm not being serious. I know this isn't going away. But I have to joke about it, even if, somewhere in the distance, the clouds couldn't be much darker.
Later this afternoon is my second CT scan - to try to work out the effect chemo is having. More warm iodine. Tomorrow is the pre-chemo blood test, x-ray and talk with Doctor G. Finally Wednesday is Chemo session 1.3, and all the anti-sickness drugs invented.
Before all of this, we see Mrs M. I may have to ban people being nice to me, concerned about me. Everyone is, in their own way, but there is something in Mrs M's manner - she tells me I look so much better, she will do anything to help, and is full of energy and vigour - that sets me off. Hardened as I am, I have to walk away a bit quicker than normal.
