Post 238: Nightmares and good intentions.
I’m in my medical bed and I’ve just woken in a real panic.
Something’s electrocuted my right shoulder — ouch!
It’s 02:00 in the morning; even the shepherds aren’t yawning.
What just happened?
I’ve been electrocuted before, as a child — loads of times mostly caused my my stupidity — but this isn’t like that. This was contained, as far as I remember, to my right shoulder (which is already a bit shot away with a clunky, painful rotator cuff issue). It’s the worse of the two shoulders, but honestly, I’d be happy without either at this point.
I carefully checked for metal around my right elbow — but why on earth would there be electrical wiring over the mattress?
I decided I was safe enough to proceed cautiously to the bathroom for a JiC wee and think this through.
The shoulder jumping around uncontrollably, just like an electric shock does, must have been a nightmare or hallucination that woke me up . Either that or an almighty twinge that affected my shoulder only. I have noticed more often lately that I jump around in weird places like the drugs has canned my nervous system. It’s only a suggestion.
Sitting up in that medical bed I should be safe — ha ha ha — it’s probably just me going mad on the morphine drops. Sweet baby Jesus, what am I putting in my mouth without a second thought?
The doctors wouldn’t give me something that would harm me, would they!
———
I’ve cried a bit today for various reasons, but I intend to smile and laugh a lot tomorrow — because tomorrow was meant to be the Beer-Fest… but it’s been cancelled.
Who would do such a dreadful thing? Who’s the killjoy? Let me at him…
Well actually — don’t tell anyone — it was me.
I’m the dreadful killjoy. I’m the culprit.
I’ve organised these Beer-Fests twice a year for ages. We started back when you could smoke in pubs and clubs — how very dare you…
Nowadays we’re far more civilised: the first drink is always a hot victual. As Leo the numbers have gone down and with that we go our own sweet way winding down streets to find better beers. Oh the fun of it.
The problem is that I was in A&E on Monday (and the word got out), so to my abilities have dropped off a cliff, my meds have skyrocketed, and I can’t walk far — not far enough.
But let’s flip the page.
———
My little bro is still coming over, and that’s always good fun. We were meant to start the Fest from here, hop on a train, have a big breakfast and a cuppa. That’s not happening now — but he’s coming anyway, and I can’t wait. He can also help me sort something important… and now I’m crying again.
So, how did the day start?
Well, I woke up soaked in sweat — again. Something’s doing a number on me with these sweats, but that wasn’t the worst part.
The real trigger was a phone call with one of my greatest supporters, who sadly lives the furthest away.
Before that, I’d been presented with handmade luxury porridge from my Darling’s fair hands — every ingredient I love — and still I could only manage half. I could see the disappointment in her face, but she only had to look at me to know I felt it too. She would be off soon anyway, with her mates, to get away from me.
My taste and smell have gone off lately. I only mentioned it casually and suddenly there was a Covid test under my nose. Drat — I thought I’d seen the end of those.
Negative. That was that. Great news.
———
Back to the call.
My Darling had popped into town for the weighbridge, café, and weekly shopping, while I stayed home doing nothing useful. I got a text from my cheerleader up in the frozen north, and suggested we talk instead — typing through tears is hard work.
So tears on a screen turned into tears on my lap — and on the cat — because Mr V had assumed his usual grooming position while I talked through possible positive actions on the phone.
We talked about wicking fabrics for the sweats.
A Blue Badge.
OC-Health for extra support.
Each suggestion made sense — and each one cost me emotionally. There’s a stubborn boy inside me who doesn’t want anyone telling him what he can’t do.
The wheelchair was the hardest thought.
Not the look of it. Not the logistics.
It’s the speed of the change — from “normal bloke” to needing assistance. Independence slipping away in great big chunks.
———
Later, I found myself filling out the Blue Badge application online. Something I’d rather not have needed to do.
Then came the question: “Can you explain how you are walking?”
8,000 character limit.
When I finished writing, I was still in the high 6,000s.
I hadn’t quite got to wheelchairs.
That’s when I broke — properly.
Ugly, unstoppable tears.
And then the phone rang…
———
“Is that Mr Unremarkable?”
Yes — still blubbing.
“this is oncology”, “Is this a good time to call?”
Yes — still blubbing, but I wasn’t missing this very rare call from oncology for anyone.
“We’ve read your recent emails and have booked you a face-to-face appointment on 19 January. That’s a way off, so we also have an option at the city hospital on 23 December, at acute radiology. Do either suit?”
“The 23rd sounds best.”
Still blubbing.
“Okay. Goodbye.”
Click.
I just sat there, stunned.
I think the good news is I’ll get to talk about my cancer and pain, and maybe how radiology can help. I think that’s what just happened. I hope it is.
———
I finished the Blue Badge application. I hope I did it justice.
———
Now I’m replaying that call in my mind — wondering why I didn’t slow it down, ask questions, understand the difference between appointments. Was she being rushed? Was she not allowed to explain?
Am I being difficult? A nuisance?
No. I hope I’m not.
It should have been better explained.
I think I need to email again — asking for clarity, maybe I need both appointments.
Oh no… not another email.
———
I’m worried about seeing my bruv tomorrow. I don’t want him to see me struggling — the walking, the reach, the limitations. I don’t want him to worry. I don’t want him to see me cry. Again.
This is just a phase.
A phase my Darling and I are in. Sometimes I avoid her eyes because I don’t want to see what she’s seeing.
Poor Mrs U.
I love you dearly for everything you do and for being you.
———
I’ll stop now. I’ve moaned enough.
It’s just a phase.
It’s just a phase.
I’ll be better in the new year.
Good night all.
