Number nine

Today was chemo number 9. Of all the chemos we have gone through, this was the strangest. I do not know why it reminded me of the Beatles song Revolution no 9! I read the lyrics again and no matter how spaced out they may seem, the somehow fitted the mood I was in all day. Of all the explanations given to this experimental piece of music the one I like best is:  Lennon conceptualised the piece as representing a revolution in the usual sense, but rather as "a sensory attack on the citadel of the intellect: a revolution in the head" aimed at each listener. When you read the lyrics they make no sense but push you to find a meaning within the nonsense. Chemo 9 was just that.

It all began much to efficiently. The admission was spot on, the pre chemo act like a dream. It almost felt like this time we may be home early. Though Ranjan as usual felt queasy the moment he entered the chemo day care, he was smiling as you can see in the picture. The pre meds were given without the DEXONA and all seemed too perfect. I took a break as Shamika had come and came home. I called her and she told me that they had just begun the chemo but that Ranjan was extremely agitated. I rushed back and found him restless something that had not happened before. The chemo was a nightmare. He barely laid down, ate nothing as he said he was nauseous even after having been given an anti emetic. I felt very uncomfortable and helpless. My heart wanted to pull out all the needles and poisonous potions and go home to never return but reason took the upper head. The one who always sees with her heart had to look at things with her head.

I was as restless as him. I felt wretched. I knew why he was feeling this way. He was just fed up, his body was saturated and screaming for relief, a relief I could not conjure even with my best intention. I located the Doctor and we had a tete a tete. It was once again the usual dialogue of the deaf each of us defending our points of view: I wanted him to treat the person, he was treating the ailment. I wanted him to hear the cries of a tortured body, he stuck to protocols and numbers. Having come so far I knew I had to capitulate. The only condition I could put was that we finish before the last day of 2013: chemos, PET scans and removal of the port.

Now I need to put on yet another mask and convince Ranjan that this is the best for him. It is a tall order for me and will need me to put up an act worthy of an Oscar! For the man I love, I am sure I will find the script, the set and the props to do so.

I guess it is my " revolution in the head", albeit an unsolicited one.

So help me God.