The Diary I Never Had

Fiat lux! Or, perhaps more aptly, fiat verba or something along those lines.

Inspired by my friends, I too have decided to give myself over to the frenzied mania of introspection. This blog - the modern equivalent of the not-so-well-hidden diary - shall be my medium. With this blog I shall do great things! Or maybe, like the gym, I'll pack it all in after a couple of idealistic and enthusiastic days.

I'm hiding in my office trying to avoid doing any work or seeing any of the patients. They're all proving to be a horrible drain on my psychological reserves today, which have been somewhat reduced by an over-indulgence of alcohol last night. Quite frankly, there's only so many ways and times you can say "you'll be lucky to see out the week" nicely. You'd think that when you're trapped in a bed, unable to walk, horribly swollen, with lungs full of fluid, bones full of cancer and kidneys shrunken to the size of walnuts, people would get the fact that the game is over. But no...relatives continue to cheerfully report that they think that John might finally be turning the corner. Why? Perhaps because he managed to ignore the terrible pain from his pressure sores for long enough drink three sips of water from a plastic beaker with the assistance of two nurses before slipping back into a drug-induced oblivion? Hmmmm. Not that we are any better: against overwhelming evidence to the contrary and in the face of obvious deterioration, the chemo just keeps on coming until the bitter end. "We must push on," goes the mantra, "it's their only chance." Chance of what? Quantity without quality is worthless.