100 days of writing – Day 1

My writing group has suggested that we write for 100 days. We don’t have to share, but the act of agreeing to do this makes us somewhat accountable. I’m hoping my fear of failure will keep me on top of this.

We haven’t set ourselves a target for each day, but the idea is that we write something, anything every day. It doesn’t matter if it’s on the laptop, the back of a napkin, a journal or on your iPhone, just as long as you write something.

I’m sitting in my living room with a needle in my chest. The nurse, Claire, is sitting in the recliner, doing her admin, while I tap away at the ipad. Gemcitabine is being put through the IV and I’m killing time. I’ve been reading a book called, “The List”, which is a psychological thriller in nice big print. It’s engaging enough, but unfortunately, the “twist” seems predictable at page 165 and although I will persevere to the end, I have a feeling it is going to be a struggle.

I’ve promised myself that I will alternate between what I call “brain bubblegum” books and something a bit more classical or academic each week.

The cat is at my feet and the garden doors are open, letting in a cool breeze. I’m eager for the sun to shine so that I can sit in the garden with a book or my journal, perhaps even my easel. When this first struck me, paint by numbers was a therapeutic way of passing the time. I’ve since taken up a number of other hobbies, such as sewing and needlework (cross stitch, embroidery, etc) but there is something satisfying in working with colour to create and image. I always felt like I missed my calling by going into media. Yes, I’ve been good at it and it has been a lucrative and satisfying career, but as I get older, I wonder what would have happened if I had not chased the money and had tried to do more with my creative talents (such as they are). I’m therefore going to have to content myself with early retirement and a life of handicrafts.

My nurse informs me that my CA-125 has dropped to 97 from 112. This is very good news. I’m now 62 points (if that’s what you call them) away from normal range. It’s fair to assume that whatever they’re pumping into me, the Gemcitabine and Carboplatin etc, are doing the job. I can only hope that this settles the matter for a few years and I can carry on with my life for a while before this rears its head again.

I can’t help but feel that sooner or later I’m going to be fighting this battle again, but I’d like a little break of a few years first. There’s much to do and places to go and I’d like to get on with them before the Big C and I fight it out again.

That’s it for now. To be continued.

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