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‘You should take a photo of that tree,’ he says. ‘Right up your alley, given what I’ve seen on your Flickr account. I love the one of the heron perched at the end of the broken river gum at sunset. And the lorikeet feeding upside down in the banksia bush. You're partial to trees and birds, but then there's that cafe shot.’
‘I took it on the way to the park. I loved the way light streamed from the colander industrial lights and glowed around the coffee machine. The owners want to use it in their social media.’
‘So, art can be commercial?’
‘Yep, but not when it's asked to be. Anyway, they're not paying me except in coffee.’
‘You haven't posted any photos for a long while. No good shots?’
‘No shots at all. With the neuropathy, it’s hard to turn the dials accurately for aperture and speed or twist the lenses on and off. I dropped the camera once when unscrewing it from the tripod. Clumsy fingers. Luckily, it landed in a clump of native grass.’
‘Yeah, I understand. I couldn’t hold a spanner and control the turning for ages.’
Your oncologist walks around the corner of the cubicle. Dr Trevor Jeffries. Ginger-hair, build of a marathon runner, always smiling.
‘So, last one. Your blood tests are good. Everything is on track. Nurse tells me the neuropathy is worse. That’s to be expected. It increases for about three months after your last treatment of the Oxaliplatin, which was week six, stays that way for three months, then starts to fade.’
