Not a lot is happening -- sort of a vacation until next Tuesday. Then I see the surgeon in Lyon and, on Wednesday, I either have chemo or a consultation with my new oncologist at Valence. I think my platelets are better. I knocked my ankle against the car last week and bruised it, but the bruise was gone in a couple of days.
I have had no luck getting an early appoinment with the urologist at Valence -- currently I'm scheduled for Oct. 21 -- but I have talked with the original doctor at Orange whom I like. He says they can't do any more until chemo has reduced the size of the tumour. They could do something major, maybe, but it's not worth it and I'll just have to live with the catheter for awhile. He reassured me that I'm unlikely to die of uremic poisoning in the interim, so that's a plus.
Like my cadeau? (French for gift.) I'm still in it at 4:30 in the afternoon. Of course I didn't get "up" until 1:30, so that's not too bad. "Up" means eat breakfast, check a bit of e-mail, see if the oedema can possibly make my legs and ankles any fatter, decide how I feel and, usually, go back to bed with a book and the computer.
I spent my entire adolescence in my room. Even my piano was there. I read stretched out on the bed and that's how I'm comfortable. A sofa might do, but we don't have one.
It's true I tire easily. I do something one day and collapse the next. After the market and paella party last Satuday, I slept until 6:30 in the evening on Sunday. I admit, though, that I take advantage. I figure some people fight illness by continuing, as best they can, with their daily routine. I've decided I save my strength for the inner battle. Har har; I like that one. Terminally lazy is another option.