Well, I was meant to be at a client meeting in High Wycombe this morning. Selling our agency in to a potential pitch for something tasty in a jar.
But in the spirit of saying no more (I do listen to my oncologist and my breast care nurse when they both independently tick me off) and because this chemo has been particularly tough (throwing up, diarrohea, lack of sleep because I have upped the steroid intake because of the nausea, and perhaps most significantly, I've found it a lot harder emotionally without R around to distract me with bad puns and organise my daytime TV viewing schedule for me), I decided it just wasn't worth it and shock horror, my colleagues could probably, at a pinch, cope without me.
So I fired off the deck that I had written with their input yesterday, over the remote server connection to the office server (which is so cool to have for these days at home but has taken me until chemo 4 battling with our very laid back IT manager to get sorted!).
And today brings organisation into my life. After three days of head down the loo, monging on the sofa (give or take the five laborious hours it took me to write the presentation yesterday - chemo slows your brain down quite significantly - it would normally have taken me about 2 hours max) the house is a mess and I am slowly getting it together again. A bit of work on another presentation for next week, and then after lunch I'll pick up the car, go pick up R off the bus and then we'll drive to Devon for the weekend to catch up with rally people in a big muddy field.
I feel bad not going into the office this morning because I usually make it in by the Friday after Chemo, but I just cannot summon up enough energy to do the commute for a half day (had the afternoon booked off to get to devon on time anyway) when I can access email and the server from home and do anything that needs to be done here without exhausting myself unnecessarily.
So be it. I have two more sessions left and i do not want to kill myself before the gruelling regime of radiotherapy starts. I've been told to say no more - so I'm trying to exercise it.
So here's to trying to have a quiet weekend in Devon. Should be feasible. The first Plymouth-Dakar rally launch/reunion I went to was a raucous, debauched affair. I got hideously drunk on cider and some guys raced an old banger round and round the centre of the field (also, no doubt, hideously drunk on cider, making those that had pitched their tents a little too close to the improptu racetrack a little nervous every time the Nissan slid by on two tires) until they burnt the clutch out. Later that evening someone torched the car. This led to weeks of pompous debate online as to 'the type of person the rally was now attracting'.
Two years on, and we're going to catch up with people we know from previous rallies. And maybe intidimate a few novices for sport. But those we're catching up with are a small number, amongst whom there aren't that many big drinkers, plus you've got me on chemo and another girl around 5 months pregnant. So it will be a subtle affair, with R and I sloping off to our pre-booked B&B. No bad-sleep-camping experiences for me the first weekend after chemo thank you very much.