Post 155: If I’m not feeling myself, who am I feeling?
The cuts and bruises are healing up fast from the feline attack, but the mental scars will be there for a long time to come.
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This tangled web we weave has left me unable to move and worried that I need more help. But if I start with the best part of the day I can then cut to the bad bits — if I can be bothered to recount them.
“Come on, get yourself together will you, she’ll be here in a few minutes” was all that was needed in my ears to shift me into gear. My Darling’s bestie was soon to pick us up for a trip downtown for whatever I wanted at the café — however, I’ll be honest and say that I was in the mood for nothing at all.
I wondered to myself what was up, but quickly realised that was a problem for a better man (or woman) than I. I don’t know what’s up with me lately.
I got my shoes and coat on and asked my Darling if it was OK for me to walk into town on my own and, when she caught up with me, I’d gladly jump in the car and hitch a ride the rest of the way. I had caught her with surprise and wonderment, but she agreed and I walked out the door happy for the first time today… only for her pal to have just parked on our drive and my brief moment of freedom was over before it had started.
Earlier I had been feeling odd. Not odd enough to say or do anything about, but odd enough to feel — well, odd. What is the matter with me, I thought. I seem to be drinking regular quantities of water and my constipation is under review with powders and a teasing lettuce leaf, so that’s not it either. The pills are working ok and I’m not in much pain, and the breakfast this morning was a mature idea I had to ensure the empty feelings I had weren’t because I was hungry. So what else could it be?
In fact today’s breakfast was a big deal because I started with a wholesome two bisks of Weetabix with blue milk zapped in the nuclear-oven for three minutes and served on a tray with a great dollop of tasty honey on the silver-ish spoon to top it off. That was before my Darling had beaten a path down the stairs to check on my status, so I was pleased with myself for being brave and organised for once — but it did me no favours as I still felt odd.
Later I had a packet of cheese-and-onion crisps and, cooked by my Darling’s fair hands, one very large seeded bloomer slice of toast and scrambled eggs, well seasoned — but still I felt the oddness I couldn’t put my finger on.
Getting back to the café trip I could now not avoid in any way, I hopped aboard the big black Tonka-toy and made small talk until my Darlings made us three and then drove the short mile into town. The ladies talked and I sipped tea and avoided chatter mostly. Their communications are regular and bold so I didn’t need to fill gaps or change subjects — I could however, forensically unpick the day till now and figure out what my oddness was all about. It took me over an hour to realise it was an impossible situation I was in and probably best I left the inquest to the four winds — I was not capable of figuring it out on my own.
They had in front of them humungous jacket potatoes with a huge salad piled up all around. I had a decaffeinated tea. As I finished first, I thought it a good idea to pop across the road and do something positive and easy at the prescribing chemists I know so well — so I left them to their heavily laden plates and fled the scene. I had no interest or intention of eating anything else as I was full from earlier. The prescriptions would keep me amused for a few minutes and that in turn would help me feel human and useful.
In point of fact it did the reverse. Sadly, there was only one of four drugs ready for me and, worse still, the tummy liners were the only ones available today. “I’ll have a look on the system,” the receptionist said, looking at me as if I had manipulated the problem to annoy her particularly. But it was no use. I had triggered her school-mistress standard reply for this situation and got both barrels of “speak with your doctor and yada, yada, yada!”
I was quietly fuming inside at having wasted her time and knew full well that now I was going to have to regurgitate the same email I had written last month to do the same unlocking of these drugs so I could continue reaping their benefits.
My mood slipped downwards another few notches and, while I found a windless spot to stand and compose the explanation email, I couldn’t help but feel even worse. I realise the problem is mine to solve, but I thought I’d dealt with this last month and everyone was up to speed now. Why am I going around in circles again.
The girls noticed some of my lowering demeanour and did something sure to make me smile — a twin pack of dark chocolate McVitie’s digestives was presented to me like I had won an Emmy for “best recovery after a pharmaceutical disaster.”
The email was sent and we arrived home in minutes. I immediately thanked my Darling’s pal for taking me out, after which I said my goodbyes and headed to bed, pronto — even though it was only four o’clock.
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By 6 p.m. I had got some sleep but still felt oddly sick. The day had been rubbish and I was still unable to put my finger on the problem. However, I did start to realise that the prickly odd feelings on my arms and torso were more akin to an adrenaline rush. This led me to wonder about the transfusions again. Could the “new blood” be messing with me?
It seemed a good shout, so I asked a chatbot for advice. The immediate reply was affirmative — yes, the infusion could affect the stability of your normal blood balance, especially with adrenaline spikes. Obviously this only goes part of the way to explain possible side effects of the new blood in my system, but it’s likely the odd feelings I’ve been experiencing could be laid at the door of this life-enhancing, oxygenating new blood my body is struggling with.
I was still tired, so I stayed in bed and let the thought of a possible clue to my malaise help me relax. Much later, after many checks from my Darling, I popped down for a cheese sandwich, but I didn’t really need it.
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I will mention this odd feeling to Dr S on Thursday, just in case. But until then I will keep my head down.
The boiler man is coming tomorrow to look at the bathroom for his advice on reconstruction and modernisation. My Darling will be pleased.
I’m indisputably odd and Unremarkable — but that is nothing new, ha ha.
I’m on the bus, heading out of this chemo rough spot. I will survive, even with a chatbot to lead me onwards and upwards.
Plus, I’ll be seeing the guys at work tomorrow after another work-based Heath and Welfare check. I’m pleased about that too.
