It has been a while since my last blog entry. There’s nothing sinister in this. In fact the reason is nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have done nothing at all in the last couple of weeks; I haven’t improved vastly, haven’t contributed anything, haven’t really achieved anything . All of which is boring enough for me to endure never mind for you to read about.
Seven weeks on from the surgery my days consist of sleeping, trying to accomplish something, however small – eating with a knife and fork, emptying the dishwasher (although I still can’t bend down to empty the bottom tray), washing myself, making the bed (which takes at least 10 minutes and is so exhausting that I immediately have to lay down on it again). Today is a classic example: it is now 1:45pm and my major accomplishment has been to get up, shower, dress, make the bed and eat breakfast.
Breakfast looks like this:
But I usually take it like this:
Soon I will go for another sleep. I still can’t read nor listen to music or the radio, but sometimes I lay down on the sofa with the TV on. The afternoon schedules in the UK are mainly populated by detective series. I am pretty confused most of the time anyway but when I fall asleep in an Inspector Morse and wake up in a Midsomer Murders I am entirely bemused.
I was warned that it would takes months to heal and that chronic fatigue would be an issue but this is ridiculous. However as my friend Mandy pointed out, if I had broken my leg the cast would still be on. Mandy is right of course, but please don’t tell her.
My visitors are now more of a trickle than a tsunami and it is great to see them when I can. People’s kindness and baking skills know no bounds. Well no bounds except the waistband of my jeans which is straining against the various cakes I have consumed. Adrian and I have started our pre-wedding diet which should hopefully remove that extra bit of both of us that is down to Tarquin.
So to news of the remnants of Tarquin. Within 24 hours of my meeting with Mr G the JR administrators wrote to me confirming my next appointment with him – in September 2011. I will be seeing him lots before then but hey, at least I am in his diary. Four weeks later the admin team managed to send me the date of my next MRI – 1st November which has scuppered Adrian’s plans to take me away for a long weekend to celebrate my birthday. I can’t fly (imagine what flying does to your ankles and then apply that to your head) so we were just hoping to go away to Cornwall but will have to re-think now.
Still I am here and capable of complaining and for that I am grateful. Others may not be so grateful for the complaining. I feel as if I am a burden on the benevolence of others, that I contribute nothing positive to those around me and that is hard to take. So at the ripe old age of 29(!) I am learning the art of patience. It is a tough lesson to learn, especially for someone who usually lives their life at 100mph. But to quote Shakespeare (again):
“How poor are they that have not patience!
What wound did ever heal but by degrees?”