*you, hurriedly tidying up*
Oh, don’t bother now – its not like I haven’t seen you in that state before, y’know.
I said I’d be back, and I am – mostly because the hospital have signed me off for a week and I haven’t actually got anything else to do apart from sit around the house today, being VERY quiet and resting my voice.
The operation on Saturday seems to have gone well – consultant came to see me in the recovery room and indicated as much. It’s hard, though, to see if an operation to restore my voice has worked or not when they have expressly forbidden me to speak for the next couple of days and I am having to convey my every whim through the medium of exasperated note-jotting on the backs of handy envelopes. If I had known, I would have pinched a mini whiteboard from work on Friday and made my life a bit easier.
Apparently, I’m allowed to talk tomorrow. I’m a bit scared to try though – what if my voice is still the same or (horrors!) even worse? Supposing I open my mouth and can only speak Flemish?
It’s VERY quiet here today. L has taken my car and gone up-country someplace to drop off a guitar that he’s sold. Treacle has gone up to Cambridge to stay with Jooj for a couple of days and the whole house is silent and still. I thought I might fill my day with little pottering-about type chores but it appears I am too tired to do anything much so I have just been sitting in the same chair most of the day, listlessly scrolling through Fb00k and wondering how I ever find time to go to work, bearing in mind how much procrastinating there is for me to get through.
I stupidly washed all the cushions yesterday (by ‘stupidly’, I mean that it wasn’t a particularly good idea, not that I washed them in a dish of gravy whilst wearing a sou-wester and spangly tutu) which has rendered the chairs in the tv room a bit less cosy than usual until the cushions are properly dry. Cushions take ages to dry. Even in the airing cupboard. I could go into the sitting room and repurpose some of the cushions from the other three sofas we have in there but that would be heresy as the cushions in there don’t match the sofas in here and that way lies damnation, dear friends.
How long does General Anaesthesia hang about in one’s system for, cos Ive got a creeping feeling that I’m talking even more bollocks than usual and I’d like something to blame it on.
Kryptonite (damn him) responded to my slightly cheeky message with a barrage of ill-concealed….ok, not concealed at all…sexy talk which took me by surprise a bit and had me responding “Well, THAT escalated quickly” cos I didn’t know what else to say! I don’t know if its just a bit of off-colour chit-chat with him, or whether he really is expecting /something/ to happen. We’ve already ascertained that he’s a bit of a player so if he’s just honing his seduction techniques on me he’s going to be in for a long wait. Of course, it might just be that he’s met his match in terms of flirtatious wordsmithing (fuck OFF, that IS a word!) and is just having some fun. Or it might just be that we are two, slightly pathetic, lonely, middle-aged, married, past-their-prime ex-Lotharios (can a woman even BE a Lothario? Hmm, probably not) indulging in harmless flirtation to make up for yawning chasms of deprivation in their day-to-day lives? Meh. Probably a bit of each. Anyway, as long as we are only communicating by method of Fb00k messenger and not actually physically in the same room (or same continent, ideally) then I don’t suppose any real harm is being done.
This week, when I am not actively batting away the attentions of 57 year old married sex pests (and actively, yet fruitlessly, encouraging the attentions of 53 year old married pests of an altogether different kind) I have somehow managed to fill up the whole week which, again, has me wondering how I ever find time to go to work at all.
Tomorrow is clinic appointments in the afternoon, after mum accompanies me into town to buy some fabric for Treacle’s new curtains and bedcovers. I am perfectly capable of going into town all by myself but not sure if I can manage all the necessary ‘speaking to shop staff’ with my new voice unless I have some back up in the shape of a 76 year old woman who also knows how to sew and can answer any tricky questions for me.
Wednesday I have a Speech Therapy appointment early in the morning – seriously, who starts seeing speech therapy clients at 8.00 in the morning? Even regular people aren’t very good at holding conversations at that kind of ridiculous hour. I’m generally a burbling idiot until at least 11:30 so I hope they aren’t expecting anything other than a few grunts and mumbles.
Thursday, Sissy is coming over. She’s been doing fortnightly round trips to help with my housework (big house, lazy family :-/ ) while I’ve been having chemo but I don’t usually get to see her as I’m at work so I hope I will be able to persuade her to stay and visit with me for a while after she’s done cleaning my lavvy and straightening my cushions (which /should/ be dry by then!)
Friday is chemo in the afternoon. Mum usually comes with me (because its boring and takes ages and its nice to have some company) after making Dad take her out to lunch as chemo often doesn’t finish til gone 7 and she doesn’t want to be going home and starting to make dinner after that. This Friday, obvs, we have had to change our plans now I’m not at work. Mum has changed the plans so that Dad has to take ME out to lunch, too, so that is the sort of changed plans that I like.
Of course, I would like those kind of changed plans a whole bucketload more if I was able to actually enjoy my food at all at the moment. Bloody chemo has buggered up my tastebuds and my appetite so that, quite often, I don’t feel like eating anything at all (not feeling unwell, just don’t get hungry) and when I do I want to eat things that are…well….just a bit odd. Battered sausages are a big hit at the moment. As are Cheerios, marmalade, milkshake (any flavour) and sweet potato fries. Not in the same dish, I’m not a barbarian. Distinctly OFF the menu are tomatoes, tea, ham, bread, crisps and chocolate, which all taste disgusting to my newly unrefined palate.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm, battered sausage.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, a battered sausage is NOT the same as a corn dog. Its not on a stick, for a start. Whats the point of a battered sausage if its not searing your fingers off as you try to hold it?
And on that note…