I am knocking around at 4:36. Could have been1:36 or just about any old hour:36 as the oramorph is not all it’s cracked up to be. I have been reassured by some gracious readers, that yes, this is the drug of 19th century gentlemenly addiction (I didn’t know, morphine, cocaine and opium are variations on the same poppy – is that right?) I could google it but it’s actually fun to get scholarly notes from Maria’s old friends who very kindly respond to my blogs meandering queries with percentages – but anyway not an incubus, fleshless grotesque or tiresomely long trippy poem has come my way – my back still hurts, not horribly but still just enough to prevent sleep so I am reassuring myself by writing this blog and fantasising about well stocked pharmacies full of delicious and let’s hope, effective drugs. – note to self 8:30 am call haematology department and beg.
Introspection is the default state at these hours and my latest navel gazing insights are as follows:
Perhaps because of my experience of this illness (you know the one that will never go away and I keep moaning about) my assumption now is that any illness, from an ingrowing toenail to the flu, a headache or an insect sting will never ever go away and will very likely be a death sentence. When it goes and I am not dead I am surprised. So I want to shout to the world that the wound I received while cleaning under the sink from some vicious flea or spider or ant that went colourfully ‘pussi’ cleared up without a trip to the doctor or A&E. As Aliash says repeatedly in ‘strictly’ – ‘get in!’
Speaking of ‘strictly’ should Chris the blind comedian win even though he is not the best dancer? I kind of hope not. I think it would be a retrograde step for inclusiveness and what he has achieved so far is remarkable enough. He will win though because the public love him and are a sentimental lot. Fair enough I suppose. Strictly does try so hard to do inclusiveness properly and my old fashioned view is that it does a good job.
Next insight – along with the pleasure of venting stuff when I am feeling poorly (like a whale vents mucus through its blowhole, not water as we all suppose, hence well-intentioned rescuers can drown a whale by pouring water in its blowhole supposing it needs it) writing this blog is about asserting control. While my body is only partially in control because of illness, the little local world in which it resides seems reassuring in my control if I write about it. In the chemo sessions that begin next week I will relinquish control to the NHS but assert control by boring you all to death with a blow-to-blow account. I don’t write it for you to read it, I write for me to write it. (That’s not a typo btw.)
Next. Last time I was undergoing this sort of treatment I obsessively bought, fixed and installed old telephones and a whole load of lighters and other clobber. This time I am learning German for no good reason. I escape to another linguistic domain with joy, preoccupying myself with the minutiae of German grammar and reading easy readers with real relish. Most of them are truly dreadful, particularly watch out for those written by AI that are unreadable cobblers. The human authored ones are generally self published and concern such fascinating events as Ursula buying shoes in a department store in Munich and losing her keys. Even those by the big German educational publishers are overpriced, very short and awful. But Behold Angelika Bohn. If there was a Nobel Prize for German easy readers she would get it. They are imaginative without involving stuff I hate like wizards and castles, the characters are fun and a bit unpredictable, they are quite long but only cost two or tree quid, she repeats vocabulary throughout each title, so for example people get pushed on the shoulder repeatedly rather than once on the chest, once on the back etc. and the books are graded from A1 to C1 – I am at A2 which means you get to call yourself an advanced beginner. At the moment the story is about Sasha who is troubled by his surname which translates as woman’s shoe. (At least I hope that’s what it translates as, because if not I have missed the point) This is holding him back so he finds himself transported into the body of all the other people inn Germany with the same surname. Hmm strange idea, slightly desperate perhaps but plenty of chances to invent new characters, to experiment with identity and gender and explore some German cities. It’s a bit like a Christmas Carol in so far as we are meant to learn to be better people from their dilemmas which is a bit annoying. These other people have also been troubled by the silly name but in most cases have overcome it or are so bad (robbers, liars and whatnot) they just don’t give a shit. It’s also targeted at young adults so the hip dialogue is not particularly applicable to my needs being more along the likes of ‘Where is the toilet? I need it urgently due to a dodgy prostate.” Rather than ‘let’s skinny dip in the lake, snort some coke and then checkout a gay bar.’Yes they do sound truly dreadful don’t they but in my particular state of mind and in these inhospitable hours Angelika Bohn gives a biblical degree of comfort.
Wow I slept!
It is now morning and I have spoken to haematology. Damm it! no class A drugs for me yet. Got to try a regime of regular doses rather than ‘as required.’ Last time I went onto regular doses I ended up in hospital with chronic constipation so this time Chris take the laxatives seriously they are not an optional extra when you fancy an over sweet orange flavoured fibrous cocktail.
Tara C x
(Paul ‘Tara’ is Kentish cockney for ‘bye’) – it’s not a nom de plume although at your suggestion I am thinking of adopting it. Tara C x