back to calm

I've had a week or so of not feeling too good about the upcoming chemo treatment. Over that now, ready to... put up with it :-)

===

Short term pain for long term gain, says the cancer doc. Do I have a long term? I reply. I have a patient still seeing me after eight years, she replies. And if I don't last eight years, I'm thinking, I won't be here to complain... So that's good.

The doc provides a clear & neat printout of the treatment process; it's from a NSW government site. Then she provides a typical doctor's scrawl on a not-so-clear form. Could look better with a bit of cut-and-paste.

I have two options: chemo or radiation. Radiation would zap the visibly cancerous lymph node. Relatively painless, relatively short-term gain. We (Deb & I) have already decided on the chemo. Take the more effective treatment in the "belief" that there will be time for long-term gain :-)

===

Then there are several days of doing nothing medical. Grandson minding on Friday, always enjoyable. Though I do sleep through an hour or two of that day.

A short orienteering course on Saturday. I add to my time by walking back with a man who took a nasty tumble over a piece of playground equipment. That's my excuse for a slow time...

Up early on Sunday for a trail run. Just under 9km, 377m climb, I take 1 hour 33. I beat a dozen of the 180 runners ! I like these runs, they attract a reasonable number of people who are even less fit than me :-) My time is slower than "before" but it's still a lot of fun. And satisfying.

I tell the organiser that I'll most likely miss the final run of the series. She presents me with a special prize, just because. Shucks, I like these people.

===

Monday I see the GP. I like to talk with a doctor who is not a cancer doc. And she's sympathetic. I feel better for the visit.

The doc does mention some new theory, that a short run before each treatment makes the treatment more effective with less side-effects. I may try that, if I feel like running at all. I may mention it to the cancer doc, or not bother.

Then I have my hair cut. I'm told it will fall out anyway, so I get it clipped back to a "number two". That's not as bad as it sounds... (lmao)

Home again and my treatment schedule has arrived. I have a lung function test this week. One possible side-effect is a reduction in lung capacity, this will be the "before" test. Next week I have a "before" blood test, the drugs will attack my white cells... or something. I don't like to think too clearly about what's going to happen.

Chemo starts on the 11th. It goes for a week, several hours each day. Each treatment starts at a different time, several run into the evening. I haven't heard anything about fasting before the drip, so I send an email... Aha! answer just arrived: no fasting.

And another answer: in the treatment cycle there is one week of daily drip then two weeks of drip on Monday. A three-week cycle. The immediately following Monday -- I start the cycle again. Oh! the fun :-)

The challenge now is to get to the various appointments at the correct times. And -- more importantly -- to make sure that our grandson is being looked after when both Deb & I are swanning round in the clinic.

===

I'm at the calm before the (next) storm. At least I can see this one coming...

Dr Nick Lethbridge / Consulting Dexitroboper

...        Agamedes Consulting / Problems ? Solved

===

"Leaders are visionaries with a poorly developed sense of fear and no concept of the odds against them." … Robert Jarvik

===

Dying for you to read my blog, at https://notdotdeaddotyet.blogspot.com.au/ :-)

more good news

Today we visit the cancer doc to get the results of my MRI scan. To cut to the chase: good news :-) No sign of new brain cancer.

===

My standard line is, The MRI scan found nothing...not sure where my brain is. Forget the jokes, it seems better to get straight to the good news :-) On the not so good, my current status is: Testicular cancer needs more treatment, brain cancer is not showing but brain cancer will eventually return. Return ? Not yet :-)

My word for the week: "terminal". My status so far: Not dead yet. And I'm beating the odds :-) That sounds good ! Time to do a bit more planning for a holiday...

Except that I will be spending several weeks getting chemotherapy for the visible cancer. Which means lots of nasty... possible... side-effects. Oh well.

Did you know that memory of pain is not as bad as the pain itself ? That -- I guess -- is why women are willing to have more that one child. For me, my memory of past side-effects is -- perhaps -- not as severe as the side-effects at the time. Soooo... I am not (for now) dreading the future side-effects.

Not looking forward to them, just believing that they will be... bearable. I could be wrong ! I'll find out.

===

Does this all sound confusing ? I'm actually feeling a bit confused. Not looking forward to chemo, resigned to and accepting possible side-effects. Glad the brain cancer has not yet recurred, still worried about that one. Looking forward to a run on Sunday, annoyed that the chemo schedule has stopped me registering for the next rogaine.

My mood is confused. I suspect that my blog explanation is confused. I think -- looking into my own mind -- I can say, Confused but positive :-)

===

I had a dream last night: I'm in a plane, a light aircraft, with Deb as the pilot. There is a strong headwind, the plane is travelling -- relative to the ground -- backwards. I am looking backwards, watching where Deb should be landing, directing Deb where to go.

Deb lands smoothly. I tell her, I wish *I* could fly again...

There could be a very simple explanation for this dream: I did have a pilot's licence (the equivalent of a learner's permit) and I do wish that I could fly again. After many years of not flying, what would have made me think of flying ? Is there more to this dream ?

With us in the plane was Deb's sister. She has joined us on several rogaines, we would invite her to join us on the next. Except that it seems likely that we -- I -- will not be ready for the next rogaine. (That was last night when the rogaine was doubtful. Today we have the chemo treatment schedule and the rogaine is definitely not on. Not on for us, due to me.)

Is flying a dream equivalent to a rogaine ? Wow ! I enjoy both... I would fly rather than rogaine... or would I ?!

I think my subconscious pulls out an activity that I would really enjoy. Adds Deb's sister to equate it to a rogaine. And presents it as disappointment that the chemotherapy schedule is preventing me from participation is an enjoyable activity. Dratted chemo, eh.

Alternatively, it's just another weird dream :-)

Deb landing so smoothly and safely, though, that shows the faith I have in Deb :-)

End of dream: Who are the two mature women waiting for us to land ? Is one really knitting while waiting for us ? Is that the way I see our fellow rogainers ? Hmmm...

Time to get to bed. To see what weird stuff I dream of, tonight.

Dr Nick Lethbridge / Consulting Dexitroboper

...        Agamedes Consulting / Problems ? Solved

===

"Leaders are visionaries with a poorly developed sense of fear and no concept of the odds against them." … Robert Jarvik

===

Dying for you to read my blog, at https://notdotdeaddotyet.blogspot.com.au/ :-)

more of the same

Okay, a bit more information on the last visit to the cancer doc:

I may have said that the chemo drugs don't kill cancer cells, they just allow the body itself to kill those nasties. Wrong! Since then I've been told, "they work by stopping cells from dividing or disrupting the way they multiply, which kills the cancer cells because they are identified the ones that are trying to grow the fastest."

So there's a major effect of the drugs that they stop the cancer cells from multiplying. That also allows my body's immune system to more easily deal with the cancer cells.

I actually find that to be very reassuring. I'm glad that my own immune system will be able to work better. I'm even more pleased that the drugs will be in there and fighting for me :-)

===

The cancer doc mentions a few of the possible side-effects. The tips of your fingers and toes may tingle or go numb, she says. That has already happened, I reply. When? she asks. From the first days of the first lot of chemo treatment, I reply. Oh, she says.

Oh dear, did I roll my eyes out loud ? I've mentioned the tingle three or four times to this doc. Plus a couple of times to the radiation doc. Did either of them hear me ? Obviously not.

I have no problems with the medical skills of the various cancer docs. these two in particular just have very poor listening skills. (And just average explanation skills.)

===

The doc does provide a typed list of possible side-effects. Comprehensive & clear. Much better that the shoddy notes for the first lot of chemo... Because the first lot were many years old & created by the doctor who (I believe) trained my doc. Messy, hard to follow.

This lot of notes has a "NSW Govt" logo. Still not written by my doc but from a far better source !

 I may have mentioned, I don't really want to read about the side-effects :-( All very nasty stuff. Now I've had time to think about it...

All the side-effects are "possible". Well, some are highly probable but the likely severity is variable. They are also much the same as for my previous chemo treatment. Soooo... Though I dislike the expression, I've "been there, done that." Sure, this time it may be worse. But it's nothing new.

As I now understand it, "Yeah they mostly all work in a very similar way but the underlying mechanism is different. It's obviously actually super complex but ultimately they just affect different pathways of cell division or activity and so have similar end effects and thus similar side effects." I can understand "very similar" and "super complex". So been there, done that. Nothing worse to worry about. Unless it happens :-)

===

First round of treatment I used Wikipedia to help understand what the cancer docs were saying. This time it's my son. He's a paediatrician so is used to speaking at my simple level.

I also visit my GP after each set of scans. It's nice to talk with a doctor who listens sympathetically yet is not focussed on cancer. Who has successfully removed a wart from my leg and wax from my ear :-)

===

Meanwhile, friends and family are caring. And they understand that my cancer is not the entire conversation, for either of us. Which does help. Thank you :-)

===

Can't say that I'm looking forward to the weeks of drug drip-feed. At least I'm less worried -- less scared -- that I was at first. Is that good or bad ? Time will tell...

===

Oh, and today I finished a "long" orienteering course. Okay, five minutes outside the cut-off time. Last by many minutes. But recorded as finished :-)

Dr Nick Lethbridge / Consulting Dexitroboper

...        Agamedes Consulting / Problems ? Solved

===

"If it's stupid but it works, it's not stupid." … Ginger Meggs

===

Dying for you to read my blog, at https://notdotdeaddotyet.blogspot.com.au/ :-)

good news, bad news

Today I see the cancer doc. It's to discuss the results of my recent PET scan. Having a meeting at all is a bad sign.

I already know that there is a shadow on the scan, under my lungs. Our son told me that, the doctor son. He has access to the scan results.

Yes, says the cancer doc, that shadow is cancer. In a lymph node on my spine. Technically, from the PET scan interpretation: "New small moderately FDG-avid para-aortic lymph node in the mediastinum is concerning for nodal metastasis." Riiiigght.

"Lymph node" explains the son, sucks up all the bad stuff from the blood, produces anti-bad-stuff, pumps it all back into the blood. (This is my translation of my understanding. Good enough for me.)So a lymph node sucks up cancer cells and pumps them back into the blood. Which allows the cancer to spread. Not a good thing.

This spreading cancer is the testicular type. If I had taken my hard testicle to the doc a lot sooner, it may not have had a chance to spread further. Oh well, my balls-up (ba-boom!), too late now. Too late for me: feel your balls now and get a second opinion -- quickly.

===

This cancer is treatable and -- probably -- curable. There are two treatment options: radiation or chemotherapy.

Radiation would (again) hit the affected area. If the cancer cells are already outside the visible shadow of cancer -- it will continue to spread. An easy treatment. Not a long-term solution.

That leaves chemotherapy. Very effective since the chemo goes all through the bloodstream. It hits everywhere, kills cancer everywhere.

caveat 1: Does not (if I understand correctly) does not *kill* the cancer cells. It allows my own body to effectively destroy the cancer cells. Magic, I guess.

caveat 2: No mention that it will affect brain cancer. If not, it may be because the "blood brain barrier" prevents the chemo from getting into my brain. That barrier -- I have now been told -- is a filter. Only nice pure blood can pass the filter and get into the brain. Either that, or these chemo drugs just don't work on brain cancer. (Sorry to be so technical.) (These are my wild guesses. All I really know is, we're about to fight only the testicular cancer.)

So... more chemotherapy. A week of drugs dripping into a vein, four hours at a time. A weekly injection. Thirty minutes of a different drug via drip, on days eight and fifteen of a three-week cycle. Rinse & repeat. Until the doc calls enough... I guess there will be scans, enough will be called after a PET scan shows no more cancerous shadows.

Side effects? Oh yeah :-(

Possibly dangerous allergic reactions, probable nausea and vomiting near the top of the list. I stop reading, it's a nasty list. I'll let someone else read the list and I'll tell them how I feel.

As we say, says the doc, Short term pain for long term gain. All very well, I reply, for those with a long term. Not to worry, I do plan to live for three years, etc -- or more. And if I don't, well, tough :-)

But first, let's check that "long term". Before I start fighting testicular cancer -- how's the brain cancer? My MRI was due in March, it's been moved forward to next week. If the brain is still empty, I get many weeks of nasty chemotherapy. If there are signs of a brain tumour… we think again.

===

So how do I feel about all of this?

Now that's it's happened -- and there is a clear plan ahead -- not too worried. After all, this is the not-likely-to-be-terminal cancer. And it's treatable. If the brain cancer is also back -- I'll rethink my attitude.

My initial worry is, a solid week -- plus a few days -- of needles in my veins :-( Yuk.

Then I start to worry about the side-effects. No, don't drive yourself home, I'm told. Wanting to vomit may hit suddenly. Looks as though I won't drive very much for all those weeks of treatment. Bummer.

What I really dread is not even on the list of side-effects. Not near the top, anyway, as far as I read it. Nausea, vomiting, nasty. Except that the anti-nausea treatment tends to go too far, to constipation. Feeling awful, straining, no real relief... Now that's a real bummer :-( A new world of dread, as I attempt to balance the drug effects with the "cure". Not looking forward to that possibility.

Note the positive use of "possibility" rather than "probability" :-)

===

All this bad news, I say, is likely to turn my hair grey. The good news, replies my son, is that all your hair will fall out.

I make an appointment with the hairdresser. Cut it all off, I'll say. May as well cut the hair off before it falls out.

I make an appointment with my GP. There's a simple weekly injection -- on top of everything else -- that I could self-administer. (As if!) Or the son could inject it. (I don't know if either of us would be comfortable with that. But it may happen.) Or I'll get the GP to jab me. I like to have a non-specialist GP to manage the simpler medical problems.

===

So I'm now "looking forward to" several three-week cycles of feeling rotten. With more good news: I should have plenty of material for this blog :-)

Looking forward to more poo references in March...

Dr Nick Lethbridge / Consulting Dexitroboper

...        Agamedes Consulting / Problems ? Solved

===

"If it's stupid but it works, it's not stupid." … Ginger Meggs

===

Dying for you to read my blog, at https://notdotdeaddotyet.blogspot.com.au/ :-)

Virus-free. www.avast.com

no news was ...

At last, after months of having nothing much to say (and using a lot of words to say it) -- some different news:

My recent PET scan shows a shadow... Yes, it seems that the cancer may have sprouted up in a new spot. Behind my lungs.

This would have to be the testicular cancer. At least, it's the spreading pattern that I was warned of (when cancer was first discussed). Brain cancer may spread but usually only within the brain. I think.

Lung cancer ? Not likely. Though I did work in an office with smokers... Anyway, "behind" the lungs is what I've been told so far.

On the bright side, I also remember being told that spreading testicular cancer is not (usually) life-threatening. As long as it's treated. And it is "easily" treatable. On my first round of treatment, it was just radiation for the testicular cancer, no drugs. Oh, but the right nut was removed... Let's hope that future treatment avoids sharp knives.

All this is, so far, second-hand knowledge. The cancer doc's secretary has left a phone message (which I noticed many hours later, I'm not a phone user). The message is to set up an appointment "about my PET scan". No urgency there -- no information at all -- but I'll take that as a good sign.

Actual facts have come from my son, also a doctor and with access to my scan results. He phoned, thinking that I would have already heard from the cancer specialist... Noooo. Poor son, put in an awkward situation. Though as soon as he phoned I guessed that it was "news". And I'd rather hear it from him first rather than from the specialist. Nice woman but sometimes a bit too "specialist".

So how do I feel ? Not too happy. But, hey, no worse than I've been before. A bit glum. A bit disappointed. But:

In all my understanding, testicular cancer will not kill me. At least, not as easily and as quickly as brain cancer :-)

So, no need for extra worry. Not till March, when I'll be having my next brain scan.

Though with one cancer (so it seems) returned... I've lost just a bit of my optimism. Oh well.

And dang! I'd better hurry up with my preparations for death. Just in case... Naahhh… I'll just carry on enjoying myself. Till I can't :-)

===

So what could happen next ? No facts, just guesses:

I guess, another body scan. The PET does not show detail. If the detail confirms cancer, I guess more radiation. Or whatever.

I may find out on Thursday. The phone message was so soft I could barely hear it. But it did seem to say, "come in on Thursday". I *emailed*, Okay. Let's hope I get an email response... I like to have my facts in writing.

Dr Nick Lethbridge / Consulting Dexitroboper

...        Agamedes Consulting / Problems ? Solved

===

"If it's stupid but it works, it's not stupid." … Ginger Meggs

===

Dying for you to read my blog, at https://notdotdeaddotyet.blogspot.com.au/ :-)

a good night's sleep

I believe that I may have discovered the secret to a good night's sleep.

===

A couple of weekends ago a trail run was moved from a National Park to a less valued area, due to fire risk in the NP. The NP run was rescheduled to this weekend. It's a tough course, I'm not looking forward to it.

The run is on Sunday. My preparation includes a "short" run at Saturday's orienteering. Three km at an easy pace. I'm rested and ready for a tough Sunday run.

Saturday evening -- the Sunday run is cancelled. Another hot weekend, more high fire danger, the Park is, again, closed. I'm ready for a run but with nowhere to run.

Except... the Marathon Club have a club run on Sunday. Enter on the day is allowed. It's in another NP which, hopefully, is not closed.

At 4:30am I wake up, get up, get ready to go. Dress, breakfast, drive. Even if this run is also cancelled -- it's a very nice drive. Sunrise, cool, towards the bush. I arrive in plenty of time and --  the run will happen! I register.

I still have almost an hour to wait, so I help direct traffic. The run organiser is worried, with the cancelled run, this one could be crowded. Yes, there's a lot of traffic but it's not too bad. Some people do join because their original run is cancelled but others simply choose to relax. Or may not know about the Marathon Club run. Or, perhaps, are put off by "Marathon" in the name of the organising club :-)

It's a beautiful day for a run, warm not hot, and dry. Temperature starts in the low twenties and is a bit over 30 (C) when I finish. The course is through bush, mostly in shade. There's a gradual climb, up... and up... and up...

I start near the end of the pack and move gradually back.  Plenty of time to chat with the sweeper, the runner whose task is to follow the last competitor, make sure that they don't get lost or forgotten. Interestingly, he also has brain cancer. His is "benign" but has caused him to vomit & faint. Now it's under control with drugs.

We finally catch up with the only other runners we can see ahead of us. (By "we" I mean, I catch up, the sweeper stays with me.) I get ahead of the two women... for a km... then they pass me again. I finish last. To the usual trail-run round of friendly applause.

I suspect that the Marathon Club attracts better runners, less just-give-it-a-go runners, than my usual trail runs. That's my excuse :-)

There are slices of watermelon at the finish. I get to take home an entire watermelon. A prize? my son later asks. Not exactly, I say. More that everyone else has finished, no-one wants any more melon, there are some left over. If it's a prize -- it's the wooden spoon. But much appreciated :-)

I spend the rest of the day drinking and relaxing. Fall asleep early (for me), still a bit dehydrated. Sleep soundly for most of the night...

The secret to a good night's sleep: exhaustion so I sleep, dehydration so I don't wake up to go to the toilet.

That's a tough secret... It's a lot easier to accept that I will wake up several times each night.

Though even a last place on a 13km trail run is, I admit, very satisfying.

===

This morning I'm at the shops, looking for a new pair of trail shoes. That's the trouble with running, it's a way to realise that the current shoes are not comfortable past the first couple of kilometres... The shoe search is a failure, the running shoe shop is closed.

I do meet and chat with a person that I know from a stint as lecturer.  He's much older than me but looking very well. We get onto the subject of clearing out the house. First, what to keep... His wife wants to keep everything, he wants to throw things out. At our place I'm the hoarder, Deb wants to declutter. Both he and I need to examine everything before it is kept or thrown out.

There are some things, we agree, which have no purpose. Yet -- at some indeterminate time in the future -- they may be of interest to our children or grandchildren or historians. Diaries, travel journals, photos, birth death & marriaage certificates, that sort of thing.

Some things can be scanned so that the bulky originals can be thrown out, he suggests. I go the other way: Deb doesn't look at the PC so I print a hardcopy of photos and travel journals.

Both of us are old enough to know that our children don't want to have to go through a lot of possibly worthless junk. We'd like to leave just the "essential" items for history and inheritance. It's a very difficult task.

====    Dr Nick Lethbridge  /  Consulting Dexitroboper
Agamedes Consulting / Problems? Solved.
===

"I didn't fight my way to the top of the food chain just to become a vegan." … Ginger Meggs
===

dying for you to read my blog: notdotdeaddotyet.blogspot.com.au :-)
====
   

Dances with Porcupines

I'll get to the porcupine reference, eventually.

Chatting with a friend who has more diseases than I have... Well, I only have two forms of cancer, all else is well, that's an easy count to beat. The friend tells me about his second stroke.

Aside: That's two people I know who have had a stroke -- only to be told that that is not their first stroke. Hmmm... Don't have a stroke alone, if the symptoms clear up it's hard to define exactly what happened. Anyway:

This friend knew nothing about his first stroke. Or, rather, he fell over, woke up later, blamed it on... anything other than a stroke.

Second stroke, he is with family. They watch him -- take photos -- rush him to a doctor. The doctor says, Those photos show the classic signs of a stroke. Score one for photographic evidence :-)

So I come back with my own story. I'm told that I also showed the classic signs of an epileptic fit. But no-one took photos! Probably just as well, the classic signs for an epileptic fit are that I wet my pants.

===

On that same number one (lol) topic... Here's the pattern of my waking during the night. Every couple of hours:

First, I wake up to have a pee. By then I'm cold, so I pull up some blankets and go back to sleep.

Next I wake up because I'm too hot. So I throw off blankets (after going for a pee, why not) and fall asleep again. Then wake up cold, go for a pee, pull up just one blanket, go to sleep.

Finally wake up for no good reason except that I've slept for six or seven hours. I'll wake up from relatively light sleep with remnants of dreams. A good sign is that this waking up often includes a "piss hard-on". Not that it's good for anything other than controlling the need to go to the toilet. (I go anyway.) Any erection at all is a sign that I am on the positive sign of my varying moods :-)

One dream -- the scrap that I remember -- has me dodging crocodiles. Possibly some reference to being worried about various bodily ills. In the dream, I do avoid every crocodile.

(Why not sharks, the more fashionable water-based threat? Sharks don't worry me: they stay in water, I avoid water. No worries.)

There's an interesting shift at the end of that dream: I'm looking at a block of land that I own, watching as I grow a crop, harvest it, repeat... I think, I only grow enough to get by, never push the land to its limits. I don't consciously think about it but that's a feature of my life: I enjoy what I have and don't work too hard to get more.

===

Today is a day for a PET scan. It's five months since the last. I'm not too worried abut this scan: it's checking for new signs of testicular cancer. If it's back, it's treatable and not likely to kill me. So I'm told. The "dangerous" MRI scan is next month.

Today's scan is scheduled for just after 9am. I have time to drop Deb at work in town. This also takes my mind off the fact that I am fasting. I'm in the city with a clear hour to get to SCGH for my scan.

Nearing SCGH I am in the wrong lane for the parking... no time to change lanes. I drive past. Plenty of time.

The queue in the opposite direction is long, nowhere I can do a U-turn to join that queue. No worries, I can park in Kings Park and walk across. Still plenty of time. Take my water bottle... no... I failed to close it, it's now empty.

I park and follow... the wrong path. It adds a kilometre to my walk. I walk past the new children's hospital and find that there is another carpark there -- with plenty of empty spaces and a very short queue to get in. Too late, I'm almost there -- and running out of time.

I get into the hospital and follow signs to the "blue lifts". And miss. An orderly driving an indoor buggy stops, gives me a lift back to the blue lifts. I get there with five minutes to spare -- except that hospital clocks are running five minutes fast.

There has been one no-show. If I had been early I could have been scanned earlier. Oh well.

I need a thumb-prick to test my sugar levels and a cannula to feed in radioactive sugar. The thumb-prick hurts, now I'm still weak from loss of blood. (One small drop.) The nurse aims a cannula at my left arm -- and misses. A crooked vein, she says. She aims at my right arm -- and misses... ouch! I tensed, she says. (Yes, I did.) So she shoves the cannula into my wrist.

I'm clearly tense, I never like the needles going in. You're very tense and clammy, says the nurse. The morning so far has made me tense, the rapid walk to get here has made me sweaty and clammy. Time to relax...

I sit in the lead-lined room while radioactive sugar is dripped into my veins. I enjoy leaning the chair back -- until it hits the wall behind me. I push the down-button again, the brake unlocks with a clunk, the chair move forward, I relax. An hour's rest and relaxation.

Followed by a twenty minute scan. Free sandwiches to break the fast. A quick chat with a doctor to make sure that I am fit to leave. (This is standard for all PET patients.) The doctor has a French accent, I have no idea what she says. I guess it is, Are you feeling okay? I am, so I say I am. I'm ready to leave.

And that's the porcupine reference: four punctures, four small sticking plasters. Hold the last one on firmly, I'm told. Any post-PET-scan bleeding is treated as a radioactive spill.

Outside, the day is warming up. I take the short way back to the car, it's 1.2km. I'm looking forward to a cold coffee at the Park café... can't be bothered. I drive straight home.

Arrive home at noon and email Deb to say it's all done. Deb replies that she is just starting to worry.

===

Phew! home at last. I do nothing much. Till the far more difficult task of sending an email to the wife of the cousin who just died.

I declared my terminal cancer before he was diagnosed with treatable cancer. We both treated it as a race to extinction... I'm taking an embarrassingly long time to die, he raced downhill fast. Hmmm... not sure who won that one...

Dr Nick Lethbridge / Consulting Dexitroboper

...        Agamedes Consulting / Problems ? Solved

===

"If it's stupid but it works, it's not stupid." … Ginger Meggs

===

Dying for you to read my blog, at https://notdotdeaddotyet.blogspot.com.au/ :-)