Post 237: From meter readings to ambling around town and all else in between.
Omg! I’ve been on the forum helping a newbie settle in when my dancing fingers earned what I can only describe as a red card. My bloody thumb wandered off the dance floor and deleted the whole 20-minute welcome scaffold I’d carefully built.
I’m pissed! I’m not going back to rewrite it. I’d crafted something lovely she’ll now never see, and all I can do is be angry at myself for such an easy, stupid mistake.
Damn my dancing fingers — and the missing “undo” that never, ever saves me.
While I’m on forum matters: thank you to the member who gave me some excellent advice, even apologising in case it offended me yesterday. It didn’t. I replied to clear her conscience.
She was right: when life is slipping away, do what you can, when you can.
I’m already putting that into action. It sits right behind “ride motorbikes” in my personal mantra list. Like Dave Myers (the Hairy Biker), I was born to mess about with accelerants and feel the open road on two wheels. Hell yeah!
My Darling popped into the Writing Room — currently doubling as spare bedroom, medical bay, and emotional recovery suite — on her way to a (well) gone-midnight wee. On the way back from the cold toilet-shower room, she stopped for a longer chat.
I managed a smile and an “I love you.” She came over for a gentle hug.
I told her I was up because of the pain, but I’d swigged some power-up juice (oramorph) and it was beginning to settle. I asked for a towel, and that triggered a whole chain reaction of things to be done before she could go back to the icy marital bedroom.
Honestly, I think she was a polar bear in a previous life, while I was a meerkat from the warmest corner of Southern Africa.
Before I knew it, pillows and pillowcases were changed quick-smart and I was lounging more comfortably. Then I launched into yet more suggestions about how to get from A to B more easily — and from waking to sleeping more comfortably.
How on earth have I reached a point where my first waking hour is spent thinking about T-shirt materials I don’t know.
The thought of a big pair of scissors flashed across my mind — an instant fix for getting damp shirts off my back — but it’d ruin perfectly good clothes just because of night sweats. There must be some magical athlete’s fabric: stretchy, absorbent, non-bonding. We’ll think more later, when the world awakes tomorrow, or is it today — oh no not that old chestnut.
Earlier, we’d had a proper success. One of many gradual home-handover jobs is sorting bills and utilities, and today it was EDF’s turn.
My Darling approached it with a look of pure determination.
1… 2… 3… off she went.
The outside meters were a breeze of my Darlings making: two photos taken.
Then the solar photovoltaic meter — ladder territory for me, Everest for her. I was sure she’d call for help, but no. In case I haven’t mentioned it, my Wife’s stubbornness is top-tier. She came back triumphant, tail practically wagging like a collie that’s just rounded up stray sheep.
I gave her a hug (patting her on the head felt dangerous — I’m not looking for an enemy).
Act 2: computer time.
She returned back like a dog with a ball, “Go to the office and turn on the PC…”
A click on the EDF link, and boom — she was in.
Then the solar portal: clunky, annoying, but we got there. No arguments.
Another, winner winner (fake) chicken dinner.
Then: ping. Anima message notification. My head shifts back into self-advocacy mode.
My Darling went downstairs glowing with pride (and I was proud too).
11:30 appointment with Dr Unknown for my low mood/anxiety booking.
The shower seat had its first test run. Brilliant bit of kit — safe and steady — but getting socks and jeans on afterwards was a nightmare. Creeping inabilities casting their net wider every day. Teeth done. Ready to go.
I hobbled from car to surgery, checked in, and found the high chair (for people like me who’d need a crane to escape a normal chair).
My Darling eventually joined me after fighting for the few spaces in the town-centre car park.
We followed the doctor to his lair.
“How can I help you?”
Two words in and I tripped over my tongue, fell apart and into a big dark hole. Tissues were requested and used in bulk.
He got the gist.
He sorted what he could: prescriptions renewed, pain meds tidied up, and a plan to revisit other meds after the new year once painkillers settle down.
I shook his hand so gratefully he must’ve felt the love.
Walking back out through reception felt like a walk of shame after all those tissues — but not as bad as the pains slowing me to tortoise-speed. The slight incline to the car felt like the Eiger.
But under my own steam (as they say), I got there.
We headed home happy — me especially.
On the way, some clown had redesigned the iron railings around a pelican crossing. Plants mashed, metal buckled, and the idiot still in his car. How nobody got hurt at midday is beyond me.
We drove on and quietly thanked our luck for not being there minutes earlier.
Maybe there is something to be said for my new normal walking speed not like an Egyptian, but like a 90-year-old who’s forgotten their cane.
I’m done for today. Time to sleep.
We’ll talk about the Beer-Fest tomorrow.
Goodnight. See you laters.
PS
The star photo of the Grinch was taken because it’s pointed at me directly and I didn’t notice it, but since I have, I’m unnerved by it.
Horrible little green thing.
