Queries

Why was that young man carrying a six foot pole with a tap on the end on the tube? It just looked so odd; he was so wrapped up in his book, and so oblivious to the extraordinary object balanced against his leg.

If they said you only had a year: what would you do differently? How would you live? But if they said five, would you still abandon work to explore the Russian Steppes, the fjords, Easter Island, not to mention all those places I've adored & must see again; and what about the fantasy job running Carmin's bookshop, no bigger than the cupboard under my stairs. And what if they said ten years, would I relax back into my usual life, just go back to work on Monday morning and apologise for causing such a fuss? And what if they said they were frightfully sorry, but they really couldn't tell me with any accuracy? What then? Bet it's the last one.

You see I'm such a drama queen: some people boldly strike forth, despite the cast on one leg, or the wheelchair, or the unexplained dizziness. I don't, I curl up on the sofa under the cat. Something tells me that I would not lead a full and active life on chemotherapy, just a slightly longer one, moaning for England, boring myself to tears. I just want painkillers & to get on with my life. Is that allowed?