Wednesday, another day of waking early in order to do toast and drugs before the rest of the family are up. My evening yesterday went to plan. football, Silent Witness and sleep. There was one nasty shock and that was I had not realised how much I had bleed from the canula site when it had been removed yesterday. I had had no reason to look until I was getting myself ready for sleep but when I did I was a bit taken aback.

I cleaned the dressing up and applied a new one, so no harm seems to have been done. Anyway on with Wednesday. I decided that I would try and attend a Zoom meeting with a group that I am a member of. I logged on successfully but became aware that my partner was not well. On checking I found her in an unwell state but wanting to be left alone. I finished my meeting and went to see my partner who was now back in bed and looking very poorly. My eldest daughter had gone to a meeting entailing an overnight stay so I set about my care duties. I took some SATs and rang the doctor to ask for a call from them to my partner, which they agreed to do. Having sorted that I got my partner to do a Lateral flow Test. It was positive so we both have COVID. I reported the test result, which was going so well until it asked for my partners nhs number. It took me to another page and through the same information and ended up saying it would send my partner her nhs number to her email address. I returned to the original web page and leave the nhs number blank and find that the system works with out it. So why, I ask myself, do they ask for it in the first place if they do not need it and also have temerity to send you down a rabbit hole that ends up not giving you what you need straight away? I’m too full of COVID to even guess so I put it down to them being arseholes, which is not reflective but has to suffice given my general state of health and copping ability.

So here we are in our separate rooms, isolating. We are hunkered down and hoping to get through. We await a doctors call and already my to do list is getting longer. I am not sure the hot tap in the kitchen is functioning properly, I have an experimental dishwasher load on the go, the hedgehog needs feeding, the squirrel feeder needs filling as it is now serving at least three new baby squirrels and then there is the window cleaner to pay and the house to tidy. The bin needs bringing in and the garden guy needs to told to avoid us this week and the blood pressure machine needs new batteries if I am going to be able to complete a set of home NEWS 2 measures. These are handy as they determine whether you get taken seriously by a doctor or not, 5 is the cut off for clinical intervention. Due to my condition we have of course got the required equipment to gather this data.

I’ve missed a call from a friend which I regret and I’m being slothful in my communications, I guess this is what happens in isolation. So here we are waiting, I have no inclination to do the “to do” list but will once we have doctored. My beacon of hope is the Greta British Sewing Bee, which I can watch on my laptop and a book of puzzles that are on their way to me. I’ve no creative juice, no insights, just an animalistic desire to sleep and wake up well. I might make the sleep but I know I am a way off waking up well. It is bizarre that for me to wake up well in my universe is to wake up to it being As Good As it Gets Again, and I am back to where my cancer is not getting worse, where my PSA level is lowering, I am able to train, read and write, letters or poems, and garden. Who would have thought life could be so well defined.