Here's a mystery. I'm never hungry when I wake up in the morning - that whole "breakfast is the most important meal of the day" thing is quite wasted on me. So why am I always starving when I wake up in the middle of the night?
Luckily it turns out that night starvation can be cured by eating a dream burrito. Don't ask. (I suppose it was a burrito. I've never actually eaten a real one. I believe they include ground beef, and even Mr Crab doesn't fancy that.)
So. Last week. The weather, just for one thing. Weeks and weeks and weeks of nothing but torrential rain until I wanted to scream, then, from nowhere, sun. Hurrah! And more sun. Not so hurrah. Even more and hotter sun. *woe* and scuttle indoors to hide in the shade. Some form of moderation. Is that so much to ask?
Monday morning heralded the first visit of the district nurse, who arrived at 10.00 and caught me in my nightie. Still, I daresay she's seen people in their nighties before, and mine is fairly respectable, as nighties go. She changed my PICC dressing and took bloods for chemo, and all went swimmingly. Of course, it then all promptly fell apart, because we had to be at the Churchill on the following two Mondays, and, no matter how I explained what needed to be done, nobody was able to grasp it, or to give us the equipment we'd need. So now, in theory, district nurse is coming tomorrow for the next dressing change, and I'm getting pre-consultant bloods taken at my GP's on Wednesday; and next week, when we'll be at the hospital anyway, I'll ask the DTU to do the dressing change and pre-chemo bloods. And we shall see if all goes according to plan. But, really: it wasn't that complicated!
My brother came to visit later on Monday morning. Judy had gone to have lunch with a friend, so he and I sat out in the garden to talk, and admire the gliders (of which there were about six zooming around). Tuesday was chemo, the third cycle of the third round, and that went unusually smoothly - I actually got seen almost at once, and we were only there for three hours or so. As usual, I was asleep for most of it - I got a bed this week, which is always nice - so I don't know if anything exciting happened. Probably not. If it did, I've forgotten it.
Judy was away again on Wednesday, on an overnight trip to Leicester this time. A thrill a minute, it is. I managed not to get sick this time, so hurrah for me! Macmillan was doing a web chat on benefits, so I joined in that. It wasn't much use (no use at all, to be brutally truthful), but it gave me something to do, and gave me the illusion of company. And the rest of last week ...? Um ... I dunno. I don't think we did anything. And it is entirely possible that that is quite literally true.
Oh, what a world, what a world.
No, I lie. Tsk, I'll be going to hell, then. I suppose that's news to exactly nobody. We both went out Friday lunchtime, to have lunch with our friends Sabine and Nigel and their daughter Karen, and say 'happy birthday' to Sabine. It was still too bloody hot, but otherwise generally pleasant, and almost like having a real social life. I felt awful afterwards, though, probably due to unwisely having a (one; 1) cider. I never do know what to drink in a pub if you can't drink. Fizzy water is the sensible option, I suppose, but I do rather resent paying over the odds for water just because it's in a bottle.
Did I mention that Sabine ran the Race for Life the other week, with my name on her card? I thought perhaps I hadn't. Well, she did. ♥ is all I can say.
Speaking of all things sporty, we sat down and watched the Olympics opening ceremony on Friday night, all prepared to be jaded and cynical. It took about five seconds to win us over, and would have been even faster than that if we'd tuned in in time to see Mr Cumberbunny's intro (it's okay, I found it on YouTube later). Bless Danny Boyle: anyone who wants to celebrate children's literature, and the NHS, and Britrock, and - what was it that mad Tory Tweeted? "Leftie multiculturism"? - is all right by me.
Yes, I expect the money could have been better spent elsewhere. But it wouldn't have been, you know. It never is.
Weekend? I don't believe anything happened then, either, except that when we went shopping in Brackley we drove out of the sun into the rain both ways, which seems a trifle unfair.
This morning we had what I think of as a hideously early start, although actually it's no earlier than most people - including me, when I'm working - start for work, so as to get to the Churchill for 8.30 for a CT scan. We actually got there just after 7.30, because there wasn't any traffic, but such is the way of the world. It didn't mean I got seen any earlier, that would be too much to hope for. There were no problems with the scan, but it's a long way back to Bicester after you've had to drink five cups of water ... And I feel a bit crummy now, either from a bad night last night and a six o'clock wake-up call, or from the resolution dye, or from both. Who knows? I expect it will pass. The water already did ... oh, sorry. Too much information?
Two more earlyish starts tomorrow and Wednesday, for the district nurse and the GP respectively; then nothing until next Monday, when I see the consultant and find out how Mr Crab is coming along. I would like to think he's shrinking and fading away, but he has been a bit bitey of late. Which is always something of a worry.
Also bitey: something in my bedroom. The cats have been Frontlined - not without incident and injury - but I suspect a flying thing rather than a hoppy thing. Maybe the Frontline will work on everything, regardless. I hope so. Life's tough enough without having to go through it itchy.
I am so bored. Does it show? My mother always told me that only boring people were bored. I fear the old bat was perfectly correct. Luckily she's dead, so I don't have to tell her so.
Okay, now I'm going to hell.
