Def Con One

Sometimes I don’t get it. I can remember whole lines of raps from Pop Will Eat Itself songs. I can recall the lyrics to chart hits from the 80s and 90s. I can name the Manchester United first team from 1986. But I have to make long lists of tasks I need to do. Post it notes adorn my desk. Bits of paper blu tacked to the wall. Especially tough right now as there are lots of appointments to recall.

Last round of radiotherapy is tomorrow, if she can make it. As I mentioned before, there is a real mental blockage, particularly around entering the hospital, wearing certain clothes, eating certain foods. I have to remember to wash and put away the hospital outfit in the right place, and not mix it up with anything else. I need to recall what food cannot be eaten, and even if drinks need to be taken away out of sight.

She gets physically sick entering and leaving the hospital. And when at home, she is still sitting in bed all day, not able to get comfortable or rest. This treatment is brutal. Poison for the body, poison for the mind.

The rest of us are again in a weird state. Life outside goes on as normal, while behind our front door exists a different reality to everyone else. The children are managing to do their school exams, and are so brave at doing that, dedicated and hard working. I go to work, and it feels odd that people dont mention or ask, despite many of them being aware of what is going on. I guess that you dont always think what is happening in other peoples lives, I know I dont.

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