Eighteen Weeks, Dylan and Toibin

Last Thursday I had an appointment with Dr McLean, my oncologist. I was expecting a quick once over so she could be sure that my body had survived the five weeks of chemo and radiotherapy without lasting side effects and that I had no ongoing problems.

All seemed to be in order and going according to plan. She confirmed my scan dates and appointment with Mr Speake, who will operate on me sometime in October, and told me that the team would discuss my case on 3 October and Mr Speake will put me in the picture when I see him on 9 October.

She then told me that she would not see me again until early December when she would be arranging more chemotherapy for me, which will last for eighteen weeks. I knew that more chemo was a possibility after my operation, but eighteen weeks came as a nasty little shock, and means my treatment will still be going on come next May, when I had hoped to be seeing the back of it all.

I was so taken aback by this piece of news, that I couldn't think what to ask her and now, of course, I'm full of questions that I should have asked but didn't. It has taken me a few days to adjust to this but I think I've got my head round it now. I assume that Dr McLean has known this all along but didn't want to burden me with too much information all at once. She must have been thinking, let's get him through the radiotherapy first and then hit him with the eighteen weeks. But I think I would have preferred to know from the beginning what lay ahead of me.

I still feel optimistic, hopeful and determined to make it through this mess, but I must say the past week has been confusing if not a bit frightening. I mean eighteen weeks, come on now comrades as old Duncan Hallas used to say to us, get a grip here, what with me planning to go to South America next year, they will have to get a move on in 2014.

I'm listening to the new (old) Dylan album, Another Self Portrait, as I write this. He helps me make it through. Where would we be without him? Lost? The album is terrific, Dylan at the height of his powers, song writing, musical and singing. Greil Marcus said in reaction to the original Self Portrait, in 1970, "What is this shit?", but he writes the liner notes for this one. He has changed his mind about it obviously. So many great songs even one called "Spanish is the Loving Tongue"  soft as music, light as spring, adios mi corazon".... lovely, Bob.

Been finished reading Colm Toibin's new book The Testament of Mary. It's a fifth gospel told from Mary's  point of view. Beautiful piece of writing, sad and moving, but inspiring, and daring. The holy father will not be amused I'm sure. If it doesn't win the Booker I shall be surprised, but as the chair of judges is Robert Macfarlane I'm sure whoever wins will be well worth it, and I will needless to say eat my hat if Toibin doesn't win, and of course read the winner. If I have time.