SADNESS & JOY

Portugal 1982

My handsome husband is losing his hair, but only three more days to go now before this round of treatments is over. At the doctor's appointment today I asked how quickly he'd recover from all the side effects of the radiotherapy and the chemotherapy, and she told me it would still take some time, as the therapies keep working in his body for a while afterwards.

We were wondering if we'd have some more news - as promised - of the new Swedish research results that we heard about last week, but there were none. Not surprisingly. This frustrates me no end! The young doctor we talked to today knew less about it than we did, much less! She had absolutely no idea about any starting up of any research programme in Oslo, had hardly read about it, could not inform us of anything to do with the medicine. But I think we came across as three people who would not give up easily, so she promised to ask the doctor in charge of research to get back to us. Hmmm.... I'll believe it when I see it. The other option would be to get hold of the medicine separately, but it costs a fortune. Unless you can get it on prescription on "false" premises - that is, pretend it's for the herpes zoster virus. Which it is - really.

I find myself getting very frustrated and exhausted over this situation. The way it SHOULD work is that they merely say: "This medication seems to help. Of course you can have it." There is no time to lose, don't you see that, all you over-cautious doctors out there!!

Notice the boat parked on my street?

Back garden

Front garden

My sister, a friend and I had some drinks in town on Friday night, and when the friend went home, we continued to a pub up the street. We walked through the Palace Park, and when we arrived at the pub we were absolutely soaked through. The white stuff that drifted heavily from the sky was pure sleet, making any attempt at a hairstyle totally futile. Arriving at the pub we managed to push through a huge and sweaty crowd of angry waiters, drunken Christmas party revelers, leering men and several known and unknown people, and escape upstairs to a quiet little corner and a waiter who was not overworked. It was so nice to watch the horrible weather from our cosy window in this very old building in Oslo.

On Saturday it was time for a traditional Christmas concert with friends. All crazy, absurd, retro and bad taste - this band, the Penthouse Playboys - is a group of well educated middle aged guys who do takeoffs on Christmas songs and other hits, to enormous applause, intense cheering and a high level of sing-along from hundreds of loyal fans. For me there's no Christmas feeling before this concert has been attended.

Except this year there is a deep sadness in me. Lying there embedded in me, never subdued, no matter how much I try to enjoy myself.

But tomorrow my daughter Julie's coming home for Christmas, all the way from Melbourne, Australia. Strange to think that right now she's way up in the sky, among the stars and the full moon, on her way from one end of the planet to the other.

This is joy! Welcome home, Julie!