...and so the condemned man waits for the punishment to begin. Because WM is such a sluggish disease (I believe indolent is the technical term) this march towards another set of treatment seems interminable. Dates have been set and diagnostic tests and scans arranged, I've had a leaving lunch with my friends from work and a good luck curry with my friends from St Albans; all the various bits and pieces have slotted into place, and still I really don't feel ill in the slightest. So all there is to do now is to wait for it to begin. And doesn't time run ever so slowly when you're waiting, even bizarrely when you don't want the thing for which you're waiting to arrive?
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