Dear all,

I had not intended to post again until after the meeting on friday with the chemo man, but the news of Sara really shook me up. As I write she is back home and I have just spoken to her. Couldn't get through for ages until a moment of clarity pierced my fast aproaching senility and I remembered that she lives in Canada rather than London. Was a bit out of touch for half a day as my virus scanner keeps trying to protect me from potentially dangerous software, like Windows, Outlook Express, Bookface, Google, Internet explorer etc. We all take for granted that we are reasonably healthy and that nothing much will change, that we'll just get older (hopefully). Then some heart-rending news about one's child. I was fortunate in that I only came to learn of it when I read the 'Don't panic, I'm out of hospital and feeling a bit better' message. All the same, a dark shadow crossed my soul. Good job I'm on the beta-blockers! On friday we have a meeting with the chemo man. I'm not sure what he will be able to tell us. I can tell him that his medicine is making me feel like throwing up quite often, but that's nothing compared with the treatment meted out by Dr Proton. His Particle Accelerator must attack the tumour at a specific angles, avoiding all kinds of glands, ducts, sacs, bladders, squishy little organs and bits that go yoinngg when you stretch them. There are few perfect paths, and it feels like someone is using my bum to stub out cigars. Anyway, I hope his info will be a little more informative and more positive. But, like Marvin (we all watched Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy last night) I expect more of the same. Can go either way, you lose some and you lose some. For every door that closes to you, somewhere else another door is also closing etc etc. Seriously, I am in good heart, else I wouldn't be wasting my time on this crap. But I was shit scared about you, Sara. I am sure Joe will keep us all up to date. He sounds like a good man to have around, especially now. I also got a bit emotional in the week when I thought, happily wrongly, that another friend and ex-colleague was in trouble. There have been to so many going down from the old firm.

I am wearing my Icebreaker Bodyfit, a fantastic clinging T-shirt thing made of Merino wool. From Carolien for my birthday. It has a 'Baa-code' which you can enter on the internet and see which New Zealand sheep produced the wool. I tried it, but you can only get down to which ranch. One of about 2000000 sheep. A super prezzie though. Another very impressive present came from the very talented Michelle. This is a fish made of clay. It is very light, being a thin layer of clay over a polystyrene ball, hardened and painted. Gorgeous. I shall remember to include a photo. More of Michelle's art at http://www.madebymi.nl. I also show this lovely fish next to a vase of flowers left for us by Irene. I do so love creative people.

Not a bad week. I am now at 11 out of 28, more than a third of the way, although the chem goes on 10 days longer. I got a call from the hospital Urology department. Was I the guy that needed a fifty percent reduction in the kidney department? When was I thinking of having it? Like a month ago perhaps, but now I'm having something else, like chemo and radiation. Oh, really? I'll just make a note of that then. Would you feel up to it, lets say, um, middle of December. It was all like being measured for a new suit. Er, the blue chalk-stripe I think. And an extra pair of trousers. I might throw up on the first pair, or even worse. Good Lord, I don't know what I'll feel up to a month from now.  Bernadet arranged a taxi for me today, paid for by the health insurance. I could drive but the car insurance company would wriggle out if anything happened. Even if I got hit by a drunk. The taxi came an hour early, but fortunately I had a book. This turned out to be a great disappointment. I enjoyed Lord of the Flies, but Golding´s The Spire was most irritating. A Cathedral Dean has a vision around 1150 a.d. of a new spire, 400 feet high. The builder tells him it can´t be done because the foundations are not strong enough. Max 150 feet he says. The Dean says trust in God and The Vision. Up and up goes the spire, each page consisting of the builder warning of disaster and the Dean urging him on. Almost on the last page, the spire reaches 400 feet. And starts to collapse. Does it collapse? What happens next? We'll never know. The End. Well, bollocks I cry, but nobody in the waiting room has heard the word before. And then I am called. Two really pretty ladies today, and, owing to my abandoning of all the rules and having multiple baths since yesterday, my lines must be completely restored in iridium ink. as lovingly as a Rembrandt. Even the embaraasing ones down in the bushy area. I can only see the backs of the blonde heads and feel the brushstrokes. What was it Cris said? Think straight. No, no, think limp. Ah yes cabbages. Think of cabbages. But on a deserted island a lonely man could be attracted to a cabbage. Good Lord, what if you erected into the path of the Particle Beam? A scream and a sizzle. Instead I watch two flies crawling up the wall. Only it isn't two flies but one fly with two heads. Been trapped in here too long. Only 17 more doses! I say goodbye to the ladies and back to the changing room. I always look in the mirror and notice that I look quite well. After that I go to the bogs for a pee, because I have to drink gallons of water to ensure that my bladder is firm and round and not like a flat ballon getting in the way of the beam. In that mirror I look like shit. The one in the changing room is bronzed and the light is golden. I shall suggest that they change it for a grey mirror and a green lamp. That way we will be cheered up and not horrified when we next see ourselves. Tried to call the taxi to get me home, but so was everyone else and the lines were blocked. Called Emma and I rode back behind her on the scooter, leaving millions of people in the waiting room cursing the taxi service.

Another high spot of the day, a walk in the lanes with Merel and Katinka. There is something reassuring about holding her close, even though she farts, smells quite strongly and often shits on the street. Katinka, on the other hand, is always well-behaved.

I sometimes wonder why I do this blog. Once I start it all come flowing out like verbal diarrh.. er.. but its just the effect of the sodding pills.
Stef, I'm overjoyed that you and Jazz are coming.
Sara, get well and stay well. I'll call you on thursday.

Love you all
Dad