Monday, I wrote letters all morning in the Shed. Lunch came and went before I posted my letters in the persistent rain that lasted all day. My afternoon was spent down loading evidence and catching up with NICE guidelines for Personality Disorder. However I did have one revelation which took me aback, my friend who is fighting off COVID revealed that she drank hot Vimto as part of her recovery diet! Hot Vimto! I was taken aback, how does anyone get to hot Vimto. I am now curious about the possibilities of hot Irn-Bru. No getting round the need to train so I headed for the rower in the garage and did one of the gentlest half hours of my life as my left arm was felling over stretched. A welcome shower followed and then I put my glad rags on as I was being taken out. We drove to the pub and indulged in pie night, sneaking in a pudding and coffee as well. Home in time to see Have I Got News for You and retreat to bed before getting trapped by the TV.
Tuesday: up but no breakfast just coffee and drugs before I go the gym for a swim and a steam. I take my partners car and check the tyres and fill it on the way. Once at the gym I eat two bacon brioche rolls and a large coffee before slipping into the pool for a few lengths followed by 10 minutes in the steam room. I just finished showering and toweling myself down when the alarms went off, not a drill, and staff appeared to hustle people out. I resolutely took my time to put trousers and a hoodie before making my way to the emergency exit. It was like a scene from a disaster movie. Half naked people, old ones, in towel and staff wrapping children and swimmers in foil survival blanket. Looked like a foil cooking lesson for cannibals. Mercifully we were let back in quickly to retrieve our clothes and bags. I indulged in a coffee and a cookie before driving home to put the bins out.
At lunch time I make a work call to a clinician I met at an on line meeting and chat about some issue with a therapeutic community. Life is difficult balancing the actual clinical needs of people in the community and the embarrassment of vey long waiting lists for help. It is little wonder that some nhs trusts appear to lose their way at times. I spend the rest of the afternoon in the Shed writing letters and watching the rain get worse. I make a dash to the post box and then clear the kitchen and empty bins before tea time and he first European football match of the evening. I start the blog, watch more football and the end of a film before finishing the blog for the day once the rest of the household have gone to bed.
I like the quiet space at the end of the day, it gives me time to let my head be where it wants to be and to reset itself for the next day. I wrote today that my cancer is like a ghost or Harvey the six foot rabbit in the James Stewart film of the same name. They are both invisible. From the outside it seems like madness that I have a terminal illness when I train and work and appear to do all the normal things, internally I have a constant dialogue that wonders if I will make my next event, milestone or goal. In the lone space of the night before sleep I remember that I am lucky, I am loved and cared about. What more could a chap want, invisible rabbit or not?
