Friday and its a potentially demanding one. My unconscious was obviously aware as it woke me up at 9:40. I got up and showered, which I always do when I’m going to the GP surgery. My life experience is that you can go to a doctors expecting the routine sight of the prescription being written as you enter the room and end up with a finger up your arse. Hence the shower and of course clean underwear. With a few minutes to go I wander down to the surgery to find a queue of my peers waiting to be admitted. We are all there for our booster jabs. I survey my peer group and I think to my self “Jesus do I look like this lot?” I probably do but I’m the only one in a handmade T shirt and a long ponytail. I am also almost the only person in the queue without a stick, walking frame or mobiliser. Dead on the dot of 10:45 we get let in, signing a consent form on the way. We get a leaflet thrust at us about what is going to be stuck in our arm and seated in lines in the waiting room. A nurse and a helper appear with a trolley and for a mad moment I thought I might be getting an ice cream, but no I am just asked questions and then a jab in the right arm. Like naughty school children we have to wait for 15 minutes before we are allowed to leave. In a moment of release clutching my new “I ‘ve had a booster jab card” I head for the village cafe. I’ve not been in since before the first lockdown. The first thing I see is the hand written note that states proudly, “we are cash only” and I feel welcomed. I order coffee and a bacon and sausage baguette and settle into a corner table and take stock of the view.
I sit and enjoy the view of the village mini roundabout as I munch my baguette and ponder on the changes in my life since the last time I sat in this cafe. I check my messages. My friend with COVID is suffering and trying to rest but also keep going. My sister sends a message to say she is having phone difficulties but someone had sent the fire brigade to see if she was alright. I had to reply and own up that it was me. I leave and walk via the co-op and load up on coffee which they are selling at half price.
I get home in time to go for a lunch time walk with my partner round the village. We chat mostly about what reading Dead Man Running has raised for me and our mutual recognition of some of the experiences. I think I have come to the point where I realise that nothing I do will effect my PSA score. I can be as fit as I can be, be as strong as I can be because these things help sustain me and get me through treatment, but it does not affect my cell biochemistry. It is the medication that does this. If my PSA is rising then it will need new medication/chemo to lower it again. It is the place I feel most vulnerable, because I am dependant on the medical profession, and I confess my confidence in them is low. It offends my sense of self to be dependant on anyone but it is worse when it is doctors, they appear to revel in their self perceived greater understanding and right to make decisions in their multidisciplinary teams that exclude me. There is an arrogance that offends me.
Back home we have lunch and I potter a bit before some really serious teeth brushing and mouthwash gargling, my usual ritual before seeing the dentist. Its a brief walk to the dentist where I take my place in the waiting room. I am soon called in and have a chat with the dentist and decide that my chipped tooth can be patched up and we will have a big review after my next oncology appointment. So my dentist patches my chipped tooth up, applies the UV light to set the compound and sends me off to pay my bill at reception.
Once home I immediately change into training gear and pack my bag. We drive to the gym so that my partner can have her hair done and I head upstairs to the gym. I row for 15 minutes and then X train for 65 minutes, burning a total of 868 calories. One thing about training in a proper gym is that it is full of mirrors so as I row and cross train I am drawn to wondering if my tits are getting bigger due to the medication. I decide that I ought to do some more upper body weight work, fat into muscle being the theory. A quick shower and then I sit with my partner in the lounge downing a black coffee and a white choc chip cookie. We get our eldest to order Indian take away and then drive home to enjoy it while watching a rugby match on TV. I start the blog and in the background programmes come and go till the blog is done. Then its clear the kitchen, dispose of the Indian meal packaging and get myself to bed. I thought of a good present today but when I investigated it I found I could not get it in a form that could be a present only in an electronic form that defeated the whole object of present giving. Clearly our technological world has its down sides. Its cold impersonal logic and “convenience” is not compatible with surprise or gifting in a material form. So back to the drawing board.
