The elephants' graveyard?

Elephants, they say, go to a specific place to die, even if that place is many days from where they live. In some ways, I feel a little like those elephants. I was born in the hospital I'm now attending, but I lived far away from this city for more than two decades. At about the time the cancer must have begun, I felt a huge urge to go back to where I grew up. And now, when I travel to the hospital, I see familiar places whose shape and purpose have been resculpted by time. The building I lived in for the first three months of my life is long gone, but the street remains, redeveloped and its character quite changed. Until last year, I didn't know where that street was, but, ironically, I now pass it every morning.

It seems to me that during a course of radiotherapy, there is bound to be a point about halfway through where you have a 'dip' and wonder why you're bothering. I certainly had that low point at the beginning of this week, and it's something nobody had mentioned might happen. I was really quite alarmed, wondering if there was 'something wrong' with me, so I took my own advice and today I asked the radiotherapists if this was a normal reaction; to my relief, it is. As soon as they'd reassured me on that point, I began to feel better about the whole thing. After all, by Friday, I'll be half way through the treatment and well on the way to being able to get back to a normal life. I confess that I did feel that I might be asking a stupid question, but I swallowed my pride and got on with it. I'm really pleased I did.

Thirteen more sessions... and counting...