Notes from a diary (in no particular order)

Wednesday 21 January 2009

First time back at University Hospital since having my last dose of chemotherapy in October. I'm waiting for an appointment for a blood test, post chemotherapy - I was worried about my bilirubin levels a few months ago - they were high - not that I really know why I was worried because they were high - and I 'wanted' reassurance that the raised level was a cumulative effect of the toxins that they had been injecting into me since March, as the medics repeatedly told me it was, i.e. I wanted evidence. Now, of course, I am petrified that they will have the same difficulty in getting blood from me as they had when I was going through chemotherapry - apparently the drugs harden the veins making it increasingly awkward for blood to be taken. Strange perhaps that GR didn't ever mention it herself - I can't imagine she didn't ever experience the same trouble - certainly she wrote about chemotherapy but from what I recall she didn't appear to elaborate on the damage the drugs do to the veins and the consequent implications of that damage, such as the difficulty in taking blood and the anxiety beforehand in having to give blood, however 'routine' a test might be. I shall have to check when I return home.

The reason I am at the hospital, proper, though, is to see the consultant surgeon (I don't feel comfortable referring to him by his first name - it feels somewhat disrespectful. Of course, I wouldn't entertain calling the nurses by their surname - this GR did acknowledge!). It is perhaps ironic but this time last year I was anticipating surgery to remove the tumours and manically purchasing the final 'essentials' before I had my mastectomy while now I am seeing the consultant to discuss cosmetic surgery. This time, I am embarassed by it all all. Last year, while I desperately didn't want the surgery - whoever would _ I was just anxious that the treatment commence. Now, though, to be discussing tatoos etc seems a little frivolous, as if I am taking up valuable time.

Rothko exhibition

In receipt of a complimentary ticket, I took the opportunity to visit the Rothko exhibition at the Tate Modern on Saturday. I am a little sceptical of the meaning that his work is said to represent - a whole industry seems to have grown out of it - but I am fascinated with our fascination of it. What intrigued/upset me most of all, though, was that of all the books that were for sale in the shop there did not appear to be one that documented the history of the Tate Modern itself.

With the new year, 2008 is, hopefully, well and truly behind me. I do indeed still have regular appointments with the oncologist - and with the surgeon - but I have to let last year be what it was and attempt to accept it and live my life again. To paraphrase Gillian Rose, my life was, of course, never in abeyance but I was barely living it beforehand either so, this year, I must begin to recapture the self that I have somehow lost along the way over the years. And a good start for me is to resume my reading - and, possibly, writing. I am not a good writer - I have never tried - I have only written in the academic style - but irrespective of whether or not I can write I intend to try. I will start by completing the posts that I began several years ago but have not yet posted. I just need to be more disciplined.