Monopoly

The word treatment has the noun treat in it. Tractatio and convivium in Latin respectively. Not much in common there, so you would think that after learning the Mass in Latin and all those years of Virgil at St Pat's I might have clocked this. That should have been a wee alarm going off right there.

Chemo. It's sort of like the Bagpuss treatment. You get led in and told "Sit wherever you would like." by nice pally people Big comfy chairs with pillows line this room, so you look around and say. "That one"

Big sore needles, big bag - 6 hours plus stoppage time, Not bad

Then you sit about, read the paper and the novel you've brought with you. Trying to ignore that everyone else has or should have a good twenty five years on you, but at least everything else is good, this is comfy. Ride it

Then the fucking singing began.

Elderly African woman in the next chair is undergoing a similar procedure to me. Didn't seem distressed. Nodded and I think I got a "God Bless you " from her when I sat down. Not sure.

She started off by humming. Awright.. Annoying but I can still read, Onwards and up wards to full Jesus gonna take me home belting African Gospel. Okay - she's elderly, probably afraid, is in a strange place, I know, hospitals are strange places, solitary places. So I thought Mart, leave her to  her comfort.
20 minutes later I was up at the nurses desk saying Michelle, can you not shut her up. I've got fucking cancer too - she doesn't have a monopoly

Can't sleep.

Tomorrow: Monopoly 2: No More Oliver Postgate, (Dir Rob Zombie)