It's two thirty in the afternoon, and I am typing this in my nightie. "Are you extra-tired today?" Judy asked, when I came downstairs just after midday (it might have been a little sooner, but the ShadowCat had come in out of the rain and wanted me to know about it). No, I'm not, or not especially. Just meh. The week before last was the week of Bruce (and getting PICC lines put in, and other general excitement); last week was the Week of Many Visitors. This week is shaping up to be the Week of Nothing Much in Particular. I don't even have chemo to liven things up - or whatever it does.
So, meh.
The Week of Many Visitors was good, anyway, and not just because people kept bringing me things - late birthday pressies, I've-been-abroad souvenirs, just-because bits and pieces. Of course I appreciate pressies, but it's not a requirement, you are quite welcome round my house without so much as a bunch of petrol station flowers. It's the guest that counts.
Lynn was here when we came back from Manchester, of course, because she was minding the house - and the cats, who, apparently, had behaved immaculately. As soon as we got back, first Shadow and then Jenny decided to stay out all night. Anyway: the weather was still pretty good back then, so she was able first to strim the lawn and then to mow it, which made the garden look altogether more respectable, although I think the cats are a bit miffed at losing their hiding places. I'm not sure, but I think Lynn actually quite enjoys mowing the lawn; I'm pretty sure she likes spending time in the garden, anyway, as her flat in London doesn't have so much as a window box. We have a nice garden, and we're happy to share, so everyone wins. I think ...
Lynn stayed till Tuesday morning. My brother came up from Bristol on Monday, bringing some charm bracelet beads as an extra birthday pressie, plus some yummy home-made flapjack - and, more importantly, his lovely self. Tuesday afternoon was another wholly unremarkable chemo session, made easier both by the PICC line and by my passing out for the duration. This week my ankles did not swell up on Thursday (or at all), but I don't know whether that's because I slept with a big pile of towels under my feet or because they weren't going to. Then we barely had time to get the spare bedding washed and dried before Penny turned up, bearing yet more birthday pressies (surely, by now, the last?), plus souvenirs from Rome and Amsterdam (she brought Judy tulips which, she said, it was quite difficult to find actual Dutch tulips in Amsterdam) to stay for a couple of nights around a conference in Birmingham. It may not have been the best time for a conference, or anything else, in Birmingham; that was the day the Midlands flooded. Nowhere near Penny's meeting, fortunately, but it's all very worrying. I'm tired of the rain. It'd just better be falling on the damned reservoirs, that's all I say, else I shall be cross. With whom, I don't know. The rain gods, I suppose. Or the government, but no change there.
Penny wins a special prize, one I haven't managed to think up a nifty name for, for prompt and rapid PICC line cover production (you can't call it that, for a start): I'd put out a plea on Facebook on Tuesday, and by Wednesday night I was wearing one. By Friday, when Penny went home again, I had three. Yay! and also thank you, Penny! I wish I were creative. I might as well save time and energy, I'm not, and that's never going to change, but still. It would be nice to be able to do something useful.
Friday: Rebecca dropped in for an hour - and no, that wasn't the last of the birthday pressies, she brought choklit and biccies and, indeed, choklit bikkies - and so did one of the Mels from ex-YBP (there are two of them, and they're both Mel B, so it's hard to differentiate), bringing flowers. By this time I was getting a bit tired and overwhelmed, but I hope I managed to be interesting enough (fat chance, I cannot help but feel) that people will want to come again. Because that was the last of it, and by the next day I was At A Loss.
I like to have people around me. Maybe I think that if I hide in a crowd, Mr Crab won't be able to find me, though I guess it doesn't really work like that. If I miss work at all - well, I miss the pay cheque, I'll tell you that - then what I miss is the people, and having noise and bustle around me. I'm not complaining about being at home, this is a very, very, very fine house, but it does get quiet sometimes. I suppose I miss having something to occupy my mind, too; I rather fear that my brain is slowly putrefying, with nothing but WWF to stimulate it. (On the other hand, I do not miss the commute. Not at all. When I worry, which I often do, dealing with that commute is high on the list of Things What I Worry About. Not as high as "Is Crabby going to kill me, and, if so, when?", but pretty high.)
So: I'm feeling a bit blah now. In fact, after everyone had gone home, I started to get anxious; not panicky, not like I was before, but nervy and restless. Luckily I am now filled with Lofepramine and have the-thing-that-isn't-Diazepam for back-up, so I hope I can keep the panic at bay.
We do have a few things on the schedule: we still have to go up to the Churchill tomorrow, to get my dressing changed. We'd thought I could get that done at the GP's, or by the district nurse, but, apparently, no; they don't have the right equipment, we have to have the dressings. This seems very strange to me, but if that's the way it is ... well, then, that's the way it is. Judy's going up to London on Tuesday evening - I do hope London doesn't flood, it seems that every time anyone goes anywhere it floods - and my brother has promised to visit on Friday, so I have that to look forward to. It still leaves time for an awful lot of WWF, though.
And, indeed, time for baths. I should go and do something about that, and hope that I can stave off the anxiety until next week, when everything starts over again: consultant on Monday, chemo on Tuesday ...
Oh, the sheer and utter joy of it all.
