Business as usual

I spent my first full week at work since January this week.

The side effects of Friday and Monday’s chemo seemed pretty mild – a washed out exhaustion coupled with legs that turn to lead suddenly and without warning. And seeing how exhaustion is par for the course for my team at work and that no part of the job involves me having to suddenly make a 60 meter dash anyway it seemed only right that I went in.

And it was weird how quickly I was back to business as usual.

Within 24 hrs I had been ignored, screamed at, talked over, personally insulted, had my professional qualifications questioned and had generally been accused of causing every ill from late starting meetings to genocide in Darfur (only Darfur is an exaggeration and even that only a slight exaggeration).

It seemed that I was symbolic of all that is wrong with advertising, with agency structure, with America and with people in general.

Dealing with the self obsessed, ignorant, arrogant and truly talented has always been one of the attractions of the business. But the US has always been strange. Respect here is attributed according to title rather than ability to help. It’s a strange place that never considers the idea that something might be ‘under thought’

So where do I go from here?

I have no question in my mind that what I want to do is help businesses make their products and services more relevant and attractive.

I have no doubt that I love advertising – more than anyone should be allowed to love what they do

The question now has to be – can I make a difference to the businesses paying me to help them within the confines of my current situation?

And should I really care this much?

Oh who knows?

Maybe it is time to become a client.. or to start something of my own over again

Sigh.

Nae Deed the noo

A real quickie to say yes I'm still alive, yes I'm running late for work and yes SOME of the weight is starting to fall off (12lbs to go)

See y'all soon

Thank you

On my way home from my last chemo session I resolved to write ‘Thank You’ letters to all of the people who individually offered up the hands of help which formed the sea upon which I’ve surfed through this whole treatment.

And each of you will get a letter.

Chemo proved surprisingly easy for me. I know that there’s a ‘brave face’ theory that people want to apply to patients who don’t seem outwardly affected by the seriousness of what’s happening to them. And that there’s a ‘denial’ theory applied to those who don’t seem inwardly troubled. I can genuinely say that neither applies to me. And for very simple reason.

“I’ve never felt as though I was sinking because I always had your support.”

And that goes for all of the people who have slogged their way through increasingly banal blog entries. Seeing your hits on the site and your flags on the map (way to go Sweden) has meant a lot. It’s meant that people care. Not just about me, but about my wife and how she’s doing. Logging in each day I saw her support system more alive than I may have felt and I was buoyed by that thought.

There are of course still mysteries - who is checking in from North Carolina?

And there is work to be done – tests, radiotherapy, getting back in shape, deciding on what, where, when and with whom our lives go from here/

But we’re on our way and we have you to thank for that.

So thank you.

Chemo VI - the aftershock

Actually Chemo Six seems to be going swimmingly. Sure I threw up like a bulemic at a pie eating show whilst they administered the '96ml of orange gloop' that I so hate but since then it's been plain sailing.

Sure I get a strange feeling in my chest and a worryingly queasy cough when I exercise - but take it easy and all is fine. No nausea, no fatigue, no worries.

Next comes the scans, the radiation oncologist appointment and the desperate plea to work around my vacation dates... we shall see.