I thought I’d escaped the full brunt of chemo, by luck, nature, the fact I’m relatively young - that maybe because of all those things side effects didn’t apply to me as much. Chemo-lite.

But last cycle, I got the full experience. Docetaxel took the form of a transparent drip bag that took about an hour to empty into my veins. On the afternoon itself and the couple of days after, I was fine. A little amped on steroids, not sleeping too well, but less queasy than with the last set of drugs, and feeling pleased with myself.

But pride comes before the fall, and on Friday afternoon I crashed hard, energy levels going from coherent to flat in bed in the space of about 20 minutes.

I still persisted in pretending all was well the next morning, bringing my daughter to her swim class. I was sitting at the edge of the pool, chatting to a friendly parent, when I suddenly felt a bit dizzy - and then my vision just went. Poof. I could feel my eyelids were open, but all I could see was a flat plane of dark purple - wondering if this was it, if the pool full of little people was the last thing I’d seen.

After what felt like a very long minute my vision came back, and I shambled my way to the changing rooms where it was a little cooler. The friendly parent brought Alice back at the end of the course, and we drove home slowly and carefully.

Once home I looked up the side-effects of Docetaxel more carefully, and there it was “visual disturbances” - one I’d overlooked on my first scan.

I spent much of that day in bed, my joints starting to feel like someone had worked me over with a stick. The nausea remained minor, thankfully, just a lack of appetite and a feeling that some things weren’t going to go down well. The cold I had nursed before chemo came back with a vengeance and I collated painful joint with sore throat and headache and was out of action for the next 4 days.

The kind nurses had recommended that I take paracetamol to relieve the pain. It didn’t help - maybe it dulled the sensations a little at best. My days were spent dozing and watching the dumbest shows I could find, my nights were spent sweating and trying to find a comfortable position in a body that felt like it had aged a century in a couple of days. Fortunately we’d arranged for my daughter to spend the week at her gran’s, which meant that my only responsibilities were vegging and feeling sorry for myself.

It did get better though - day by day. About a week after chemo I dragged myself to work, and spent the day feeling creaky and phlegmy (hand sanitizer at the ready for any foreign threat), but strangely it did me some good - interacting with colleagues and being busy was invigorating, and so I went back the next day.

Now, 10 days in, I feel reasonably normal, fairly low energy still but functioning.

I think it’s fair to say I tolerate the new drugs a little less - but also I’m told there’s an accumulation of the chemo drugs over time, and having a viral cold didn’t help matters. Only two cycles to go, here’s crossing fingers that it won’t carry quite the same whack next time.

I read a book in which a civilization of monsters from another dimension invades earth and the end is near. I had a dark chuckle at a passage where an eldritch horror is poisoned because he accidentally eats a patient who was undergoing chemotherapy. At least there’s that.