Life of a Chemo Patient

Yesterday was one of those days. Therefore I wanted to write, but I couldn’t because it was also one of those days.

Yesterday was one of those days I experienced too often in the past two years. A day when I simply am too tired and can only do the absolute necessary with some major effort. At least, that’s how the start of the day was. Fortunately, the last couple of months things tend to improve after my siesta. So in the afternoon I went to see my psychotherapist, ordered my new home trainer and made a couple of telephone calls.

However, I wasn’t able to write.

Yesterday was one of those days that mark an essential moment in my live. A date you just remember. 25 November is such a day, like 13 May, or 30 April. And when I look back at the first occurrence of each of those days, they all included a number of different aspects. 25 November was the day that marked the start of my second relationship. It was also the day that saw my very last performance, it was 1994.

During the last 3 months and with the help of my psychotherapist, these memories had their value in my life “restored”. Chemotherapy does strange things with you as a human being. And that’s what I wanted to write about, but let me shortly dwell on that day in 1994.

I have my masters in musicology and I was also trained as a professional singer.

25 November 1994 was my very last concert. I sang the baritone solo in the “Petite Messe Solennelle”, the last major composition from Gioachino Rossini, in Berlin, the Deutsche Dom.

It brings back to me of one of my favourite encores, Paolo Tosti’s “Partir c’est mourir un peu”

(with Bart van Oort, piano).

Which in it’s turn reminds me of my university professor, the late Hélène Nolthenius, one of the major Dutch authors, but also one of the leading medievalists of her time. I had the honour to perform the 13th century examples during her retirement speech in 1976. Afterwards she thanked me with a hard cover copy of one of her best books, Renaissance in May, with a small written dedication: “Partir c’est renaître un peu”. It characterizes that day in 1994. I still treasure the book.

Back to the present.
Last Monday, 24 November, a very dear friend passed away. At the age of 59. We have known each other only about 7 years but he has been essential in what might be my most important career move and was a very dear friend ever since. He was diagnosed with cancer like another dear friend and colleague who past away last June.

It’s ironic, my 2006 cancer diagnosis was the third time in my life I was told that I had a major chance not to live much longer. But this time, within a time frame of 6 months after mine, these two dear friends were diagnosed with a life threatening cancer as well.

Against all odds, I am still here, which was one of the reasons why I went to see a psychotherapist 2 months ago.

This entry was meant to deal with the emotional roller coaster that made me go get some professional help, but the trip down memory lane was more detailed than expected. So, will be continued….