Post 456: Some days are easier than others.
When you lose track of the days, and the cat crying outside the bedroom window at 6.30 am is driving you mad, the tendency is to think, what’s my life like when one day is so much like another?
How to stay focused on the long-term future is the main aim, and sometimes the hardest thing of all.
When you wake, the first thing you do is check which parts of your body are hurting and whether or not to reach for the bottle of Oramorph to ease the worst of the pain.
But the early morning call from within to wake up is fed straight to the brain, and once it’s switched on it’s so hard to switch off again.
My Darling said yesterday that we might go out today, but that didn’t happen.
I’m sure we will sometime this week.
Her ability to walk is improving steadily and I guess she’ll be heading back to work next weekend.
How she’ll survive is another matter entirely because her job is mainly walking or standing all day, and her shifts are all over ten hours long, three days on the trot.
It might simply be too much for her.
I think I’ll ask her tomorrow whether she can arrange a phased return to help her through that first weekend back.
I worry about lots of things, but My Darling’s return to work is right up there alongside my back and the looming bone scan.
The pains I had today gradually increased, and by the evening I was uncomfortable just sitting watching TV with My Darling.
We found a new Japanese series - a gentle romantic story centred around lunch - called Bento.
The food is carefully arranged inside a traditional bento box with five to seven compartments, rather like a biscuit assortment box, only much smaller.
Rice is the only constant.
The other compartments are filled with meat, fish or vegetable dishes that tease the eyes with their colours and neat presentation, the nose with wonderful aromas, and finally the taste buds with flavours that are either completely new or remind you of something from long ago - perhaps even a school dinner from primary school.
It’s a lovely story about how food can bring two people together, although not without stirring up a few difficult memories along the way.
By the fifth or sixth episode I dragged my sorry body upstairs for an early night.
Since finishing the steroids a week ago, the pain across my pelvis, together with clicking hips on both sides, has gradually become a nuisance.
Now I’m taking an extra dose of Oramorph before bed, although not every night just yet.
Perhaps I should take another dose earlier in the evening so it’s easier to sit comfortably and watch TV with My Darling.
The trouble is, the pain isn’t always there.
But last night it certainly was.
I suppose I don’t help myself because, once every week or so, I decide to wander around upstairs with the battery-powered Dyson (other vacuum cleaners are available!) and tidy the bedroom, picking up the hairs and general detritus left behind by Mr Vicious and me.
The battery pack makes the machine surprisingly heavy by the time I’ve finished my little sweep around upstairs.
I should really split the job up and do one room each day to make life easier.
But that thought never occurs to me while I’m doing my best Queen impression with I Want to Break Free playing loudly in my imagination.
Ha ha.
I just can’t help myself.
Hoovering, along with battling the brambles and wandering rose shoots outside that seem determined to take over the place, are two more jobs I simply can’t leave alone.
It’s only a little tidy-up really.
A bucket of garden cuttings…
Sometimes two.
Occasionally three, if I think I can get away with it.
Then I’m absolutely knackered and have to sit down for a rest.
Only then do I realise I’m my own worst enemy as I try to get comfortable in front of the TV in the magic chair that sometimes isn’t quite so magical anymore.
It used to be.
Comfortable.
Wonderfully comfortable.
Really comfortable.
Now… not so much.
That has more to do with the idiot sitting in it than with wear and tear.
I should probably get a gardener and extend the cleaner’s visits upstairs to ease the burden on both of us.
That would certainly help my back and perhaps give me the odd day with a little less pain.
But…
I want to be useful.
I want to tidy my own mess for as long as I can.
I want to be me…
…for as long as I can.
Take care, and sleep tight.
