As had been my custom throughout the previous couple of
CROPs, my silent but pleading prayer was that this would be
my last. This time I had had to draw upon the last of my dwindling
resolve to find sufficient to face the days ahead. I'm not sure
how much fight was still left in me, but subconsciously I was
preparing for the worst.
Wednesday was still clinic day, and my fate was still squarely
in the hands of the experts. Physically I had responded well,
but mentally I was about to crack, and I was going to tell the
doctors. Following the F.B.E. and a substantial wait, the interview
began.
"We're really happy with the way the treatment has gone."
I was used to this type of non-committal statement, and wanted
to interject with my strong feelings on the matter - A long break
from the treatment, or better still, an end. The doctor was talking
as he examined my spleen with forceful depressions of his fingers.
"We decided, at our meeting yesterday, that you've had enough
of the CROPs ... and that you need a period of recovery while
we decide upon a maintenance course for you."
