I slept well last night — 8.5hrs of bliss, no nightmare and no issues.
I’ll have a few more like that please.
———
There’s a creeping understanding of my position, even without knowing it fully just yet. There’s an ever-increasing weakness in my body, and it’s starting to explain some of the troubles I’m having.
Time creeps on as my body creaks.
Today I had a great chat with the hospice doctor who, after some thoughtful scratching of her head and a dive through my ever-growing medical notes, found that everything important was already there in black-and-white pixels. The meds I’m on are helping (and not hindering), and there’s little benefit in changing too much just yet. So, a small increase in the morning dose and a “wait and see” — exactly what she and I both wanted.
I didn’t want to knock the medicines too far off balance.
We agreed, and that was that.
Since I’ve been gaining a bit more of myself each morning — and if that continues — then with this slight tweak to the pills I’ll be right as rain by Christmas. Ho Ho Ho.
———
Emails between me and “oncology” flowed today like in the old days. How glorious it is when communication actually works.
Communication — the one point of weakness in this modern world of mass communication. How can that be? This constant waiting for a digital reply… the cause of so much frustration.
Anyway, the important answers arrived:
A: You can’t see the mapping graphics for radiotherapy until the next meeting.
Annoying! I wanted to know where they’re zapping me the day after tomorrow.
B: A blood form has been sent to you to get before the next meeting.
Well, I hate to say “I told you so” — but I did. And I’m glad.
(I’m dancing little circles of jubilation — only in my mind, mind you.)
C: The SR1 form can be discussed at the next meeting.
Good. That should be something they tell me without me asking, surely.
D: Two reports were sent — eventually they landed: CT and bone scan.
Not that I’ll understand much.
But for me it’s more about open communication and the feeling of being supported. It warms me inside.
So yes — a very good Monday. The only thing left is to book the blood test before the meeting, and I’m waiting on Anima to play nicely but that’s all I can do today.
———
My Darling completed day three of her phased return (another early shift), and once home she disappeared into bed, off to the land of happy dreams — or so I thought…
With an out of the blue and exuberant push of the door, my Darling, with extraordinary enthusiasm and far less elegance, launched herself over me in my single recovery bed, scattering remotes and water bottles to the four corners of the room.
Not to be beaten by a bed, she’d devised a cunning plan — more cunning than the… well, you can finish that line in finest Slack-Bladder style.
She landed sunny-side up, and I had just enough room for an emergency exit if I needed.
Success — briefly.
Because my Darling sleeps with all extremities pointed at the four compass points, the would-be sleeping baby (her) stood no chance.
Sure enough, she wriggled back the way she came and retreated to the marital double, where there’s just enough room for her and her weather vane sleeping pattern.
———
As you can tell, things are better all round today. I’m getting used to the pains, and oncology feels one step closer again.
I feel more relaxed, though I dread the issues we’re soon to discuss. But I want openness and clarity now — especially now I’m less well and struggling.
———
I keep suggesting things for us to do together, but we’ve yet to get the green light. Still, it’s nearly the carolling season, and although my voice broke sometime in the late 70s and never recovered, it could still be fun. Especially with vocal lubrication — a cup of punch or three. Ho Ho Ho!
I’ll leave you with the thought of last night’s dinner: a locally sourced nut roast with onion gravy and a cranberry layer inside. Top quality. Half-chopped Brazil nuts ready to break your teeth and with some horseradish on the sprouts too. Yum!
Good night — sweet dreams.
