La, my dears, if Pepys had been as bad a diarist as I am, we would now know fk-all about the 17th century. (Incidentally, it is Quite Interesting how Pepys's diaries came to be decoded and transcribed - but I digress.)
Since last we spoke, I have been visited by persons from my place of work, to wit, my line manager and someone from HR, which went off quite well. I was worried they might hassle me about getting back to work which, pas possible, but they didn't, although, as feared, my SSP is about to run out, and the HR lady arrived bearing a form to claim further benefits from the Guvmint which, in my case, I do not think I qualify for; however, I sent the form in anyway, so as not to drop off the grid. I should hate to wake up one morning and find I was no longer entitled to NHS care. (I'm not so worried about my Old Age Pension, as I doubt I shall be around to need it. Morbid, but sadly true.) Wendy, my line manager, had just come back from Florida Disneyworld, which to me seems an odd choice of destination for a child-free adult, but to each their own. She brought me some choklit and a poinsettia, both v welcome.
On the Thursday of that week we had the ex-YBP dinner at a local pub (The Plough, should you ever be in Bicester; the food's quite good). I had rather an embarrassment of riches in terms of people making sure I could get there okay, and Stuart kindly drove me home - and Nairne walked me out of the pub to make sure I ended up in the right place! Oh, chemobrain, you have a lot to answer for: I used to be a fully-functional adult and now I can't tie my own shoelaces, if I had shoes with laces and could reach my feet to tie them in the first place. The YBP family got rather rudely broken up two years ago when [company merges and takeovers, blah blah blah], as a result of which those of us who survived the process - I only very narrowly qualified, and that was largely due to YBP in America saying lovely things about me, thank you, guys! - clung together in much the manner of survivors on a freezing life raft ...
... wait: wouldn't survivors on a freezing life raft be more inclined to chuck each other overboard and increase their own chances of survival? Bad analogy. Anyway. We all got very close, much more so than colleagues normally do. It was quite an odd group already, including as it did two people heavily involved with amateur dramatics, one movie buff, several SF readers, one convention-going Supernatural obsessive, and me, all of which merely reinforces my conviction that there are no normal people. Heck, even the little girl who used to live next door to me when I was a teenager grew up to marry a man who's into historical re-enactment, and I'm sure that had nothing to do with me. *thinks back* Did it?
So, anyway: very nice dinner, although the vaguely exotic fish (haddock with ginger) went rather oddly with traditional roast veg, and they served Yorkshire pudding with the turkey which, what? Then on to Friday, and what would have been a lovely visit from my lovely brother and was, in fact, a lovely visit from my lovely brother, only somewhat mitigated by the fact that when I bent down to feed the cats that morning my back pinged out and I was in agony, and remained so for another week - it still isn't quite right, in fact.
Somewhere in amongst all this we started becoming festive. Judy got lumbered with the traditional job of cleaning up the sitting room so that Father Christmas won't think we're slobs - it's the only time the bookshelves get moved so we can clean behind them (yes, yes, but you haven't seen our bookshelves). I couldn't be much help, or any help, really, but I took on the job of LibraryThinging the books from the shelves behind Judy's chair (somewhere along the way we drifted into the habit of appropriating chairs of our own, we are very middle-aged now) and then sorting them, which I have actually been itching to do for some time and have never had the energy to do. I didn't really have the energy now, either, but it's amazing what you can do when you are determined, and when someone else pulls the furniture out of the way for you. So now the philosophy books are all organised although not, alas, by discipline, merely by philosopher and/or author. (Not me. Judy. Open University.)
The Christmas tree, which we bought a couple of weeks ago, has been brought inside, and is now about three-quarters decorated. The amount of tree-decorating I can do at any one time is severely limited, not so much by spoonlessness, although that too, but by how much prickliness I can take at the any one time in question. My fingers may be numb, but they still feel pain, which seems unfair somehow. And there are pressies and cards all over the place and, all in all, it is v exciting.
On Monday of this week (see, I am almost up to date now) we were off once again to the Churchill - although Judy had to chase them up for the appointment, sigh - to see the consultant for my pre-chemo appointment. She's cleared me for both my upcoming session and the following one, which is early in January, and has taken me off Taxol, so it will only be ... oh, I can't remember the damn names, the other thing - this time. Which, I hope, will mean a much shorter session, and possibly also no need for an emergency stop at Sainsbury's. *hopeful*
I just about had enough spoons after that for a ginormous shop at Big Tesco, after which, somehow, we still had no actual food to speak of. The cats are all right, though, as the Who never sang, so that's okay. At some point we must buy vegetables. We really must. We must buy potatoes and sweet potatoes and butternut squish and parsnips and carrots and broccoli and courgettes. And then we must cook them and eat them. Yes. Also, cranberries. ("Hey, you forgot cranberries too?!")
On Thursday I had Plans to go into Oxford, since Judy was going in anyway for what I am sure was a thrilling lecture on Restorative Justice - Plans that neither spoons nor bad back nor threat of snow could cancel. And so I did. And I managed a wander round the Covered Market, remembering to buy mistletoe (should you ever want to buy mistletoe from the Covered Market, remember to get it from the other florist, who sells big bunches for £2, where the first florist only sells sprigs which are also £2); and a moderate-sized shop in Boots, gaining (amongst other things) Gü Christmas crackers and some Simple facial wipes for which Macmillan will gain the princely sum of 10p; and a Lush shop; and a big old collapse in Pret a Manger, involving a tuna melt and a lemon pudding and two lattes, and I wasn't even sick afterwards! I was very, very glad to see Judy, though, so that we could go home.
And so, as I said, to bed. I have not quite been there ever since - for a start, I'm obviously not there now, I can't do this much typing on the netbook - but pretty much. As I also said: very, very tired, and very, very breathless. This coming week, as well as chemo, I have an appointment with Dr Naj at the chest clinic. I think Naj thinks he's going to sign me off his books. I think he's wrong. I only hope I have enough breath to argue. I have a number of new spoons, including a small wooden Welsh lovespoon on a chain that Judy gave to me yesterday (and what I suspect is a spoon from LM, although it is wrapped in Christmas paper and is thus, obviously, currently unopened), so perhaps those will help.
Our friend Penny is visiting at the moment, bringing with her, as though she were not welcome enough already, Christmas Lush stuff, and a lovely M&S nightie and another of her wonderful knitted blankies for ME. We were planning to have celebratory Indian food last night; it's a measure of how poorly I feel that I wasn't up to it. WOE, and, indeed, WOE!!! Luckily, my friends are fast becoming used to visiting only to have me languish on the sofa at them - and sometimes go to sleep mid-sente...
