The ringing phone wakes me up. It seems to be a given now that I won’t be out of bed much before 10.30 a.m. “Hello?” It’s my friend Camelia, another budding Shaman. She wants to come over and do what sounds like “a Gazpacho” on me, some kind of Shamanic ritual. Or maybe it’s soup? “Fabulous,” I say, “whenever you like.”
I fumble, around trying to get bathed, dressed and to the hospital in time for chemo. I’m so tired I really can’t be bothered to wear wigs anymore.
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