Sunday, March 3, 2024 

     The dying smoke alarm beeps every minute. I yell back, yes, I know.  The alarm box is high in the ceiling, too high for me to reach. I use my cane to hit it without success. The beep is shrill, loud and persistent.  The tall man responds to my call for help and replaces the battery. He returns home to his sick bed where he is recovering from a nasty cold.

     In the late afternoon I go outside, picking up the newspaper and mail, and slowly walking to the end of the street.  On the way back the rain starts up again.  I hang my wet orange puffer jacket on a chair to dry.

     Getting ready for Monday’s chemo infusion. Actually, I don’t know how to get ready except to make sure my rides are arranged. Slowly the tension mounts in my body and I remind myself that I will be fine, all is well. This will be number 4 out of 6 infusions.

     I start reading Adam Kay’s book, THIS IS GOING TO HURT.  It is quite funny in a sick way, and helps me loosen up around my medical treatments.