4 days on ...

(part 1 of 2 part blog)

My memory is hazy. I am writing this from The Chemo Couch (my sofa), where I seem to have spent 75% of my waking life this year. I ache and I am tired. I am tired despite spending Monday and Tuesday in bed. I have no clever name for my bed. It is just 'bed'. And I'm beginning to loathe bed as much as The Chemo Couch.

Rewind.

I can remember last Thursday. I got my energy and 'life' back after feeling lethargic for a while. The days are blurred and I can't be too sure of the exact timing, but I do remember that come Friday, whilst the rest of the office rushed out the door at 4:01pm for the early break and the three day weekend here in the UK, I was happily engrossed in some coding and worked on later into the evening, feeling good about myself - remembering what it was I did for living and feeling like I was making a positive contribution, rather than being a passenger at the workplace.

My mood had been further buoyed by the fact that a rather lovely person in the office gave me the opportunity to have a pair of free tickets to see my beloved Manchester United ('soccer', my overseas readers!) at their home ground, Old Trafford the next day. A result.

I live on the northern outskirts of London. Manchester is 175 miles north. So that's a 350 mile round trip in a day. I remember 'thinking twice' about driving. Was it stupid of me put myself in this situation? My 'daily pain' was still strong, so I knew I would be taking plenty of painkillers. But on the day, I couldn't see the harm. My car is comfortable, safe, fast, automatic and driving had never really been too much trouble for me. The friend I was taking would understand if I had to pull over for a while. Large cans of Red Bull and a feel-good-feeling, ensured that I would be OK.

Actually, we hit a lot of traffic and everything was nearly a disaster, but thanks to some determined wills and a parking attended sent from heaven, who parked our car and drove us the final mile to the ground, saving us missing the entire first half. As it was, we missed 10 mins.

Not a real problem, as our team won 3-0 and the drive home was a brilliantly clear motorway, where I got our time down from 4.5 hrs to 3 hrs. A great day.

The following day, I woke at 11:00am. Hastily dressed, I met a friend and we caught a train into London, where we saw 'Avatar' in 3D at the iMax. It was her 'first time' in 3D and I never get bored of seeing that film on the big, big, big screen. After a meal out, I returned home. It had been a good weekend and I was looking forward to the official day off, Bank Holiday Monday, to get some washing done but more importantly, I had a burning desire to finish off a song I had been working on.

I called home. My step-dad wanted me to come down on Monday for a day out. I called to confirm that wasn't going to happen. I was tired. Happy, content but very tired. I just wanted to sleep and then take the next day to charge my batteries, relax and make some music.

God had others plans.