Lift up your heads.

I finally looked Vlad’s number up in the phone book and called her. You see, I had her on speed dial just because I could never remember her number and hated having to look it up every time I called her, but then they made dialing the area code mandatory, so the whole speed dial thing didn’t work anymore. Anyway, I called her.

She has ovarian cancer and has already been given the first of three chemotherapy treatments which will precede a total hysterectomy and lymphectomy (I don’t know if that last one is a real word or not), to be followed by three more chemos. She’s lost 40 lbs. in a very short time. It’s not as though she didn’t have it to lose--I would surmise that she was at least that much and possibly a fair bit more overweight--but it’s come off very quickly because she simply lost her appetite. Also, because the treatment plays havoc with the immune system and lowers the white blood cell count, she has to have another series of injections to increase their productivity, and she says that is just as bad. Her bones ache afterwards.

So she’s not doing so well. I asked her if she was scared and she admitted she was, but she also has to tell herself that everything is going to come out fine, and I told her that that was what I believed as well. She said she’s in quarantine right now, due to her reduced immune response, but after next week she invited me to come up and visit her, so I think I will.

She also gave me a phone number and alternate email address for the student of hers I am supposed to be teaching. I’ve shot off a note to her and hope she gets in touch with me soon.

In the meantime, it’s been freezing here. We’ve had the woodstove going and I’m wearing layers of clothing, even pulling on the fingerless gloves at the computer keyboard, and I still spent most of today shivering. I also did a fair bit of practising. I think I am suffering vocally from my hormonal fluctuations. By now I should be in tip-top shape, yet I am still experiencing difficulty around the upper break. Either that, or I’ve forgotten how to sing. Somehow, that doesn’t make sense to me.

As I sit here quietly in the attic, I am certain I’m hearing a small animal between the walls. But the trap in the cold cellar has remained unsprung and each time I check the bag of poison behind the knee wall, it is undisturbed. Maybe I’m imagining things, or maybe we have a different sort of infestation.

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