"Pink is the navy blue of India," as Diana Vreeland famously pronounced in 1956 to the legendary fashion photographer Norman Parkinson upon his return from Mahabalipuram, shooting for VOGUE. My cheerful chemo cap has attracted the best sort of attention from the staff and my fellow patients here at PMH this afternoon. This is chemo session #6. It may be the last one, or there may be one more, depending upon forthcoming test results. My conscientious team considerately scheduled a seventh session for just after the CT scan in a few weeks. If we're where we want to be then, we'll cancel it; if not, I have another cozy pod waiting for me. Everyone is in a remarkably good mood today, probably in anticipation of the Labour Day weekend. For me, it brackets the entire summer—a summer of self-care, introspection, gratitude, the love and care of friends, and, of course, the loss of approximately half my hair. I may not have gone anywhere on holiday this summer, but at least I've "been to me," to quote the famously insipid 1970s ballad made famous by Mary MacGregor (and Priscilla, of course.) For now, I'm snuggled up in room 4 of the Purple Ward in full sunlight, feeling groovy and listening to New Country as the machines pump life-saving chemicals into my body for the next hour and a half. If I squint, it feels like I'm in a good hotel under a warm blanket as the afternoon sun pours over me like gold, or at a spa. I did have a chuckle earlier when my day nurse, Ahmed, noted that I'd put on weight. "We have excellent dieticians here," he said delicately. "If you need some help."
