Tomorrow I head back to the chemo ward, for another infusion of Cisplatin.
It's a bit like plugging into the Matrix. There are rows of chairs along the room, each with a spaghetti of cords and tubes ready to deliver the necessary nutrients. Or toxins, depending on which way you want to look at it. Either way, it's for the greater good.
Once you have settled into your allotted space you are given an emaciated Dalek to look after for the day. A pale shadow of their former universe-conquering selves, today's chemo Dalek is a computerised pole-on-wheels with the role of administering your chemical infusions. Mine is called Baxter (I am not making that up).
To ease boredom, I like to take Baxter for walks around the ward while he dispenses the drip. Baxter is battery operated, but with a limited charge, so he does have to return to base every half hour or so.
I think he may be ill. He keeps rabbiting on about wanting to find the doctor. Yes, but doctor who?
