I feel I’ve made a downward step this week. I seem so tired, so achy. I’ve given in to my painkillers & am having regular doses of paracetamol, codeine, liquid morphine, sleeping pills. I seem to need an hour’s afternoon nap to raise any energy for the afternoon & yet I’m still ready for an early night, sometimes, as last night, just because I’m so uncomfortable. In other words I’m beginning to feel right sorry for myself.
Yesterday, when we came home after spending an hour at the surgery getting my dressings redressed, I was surprised to see the post – all addressed to me for once. The first letter was a boring thing about changing bank terms. The second was a questionnaire about how I felt after my recent (last March!) op & how I feel now. My view on the answers is somewhat coloured by my present outcrop of tumours. It’s difficult to feel sexy with inches of dressings on my chest between further small red tumours!
The third, though, was something else. It was a small parcel, all carefully wrapped up. I wasn’t expecting anything. We’d not put in any orders for anything. Inside was a card & a brochure about Chatsworth Hall & gardens. It was from some friends. I’d mentioned Chatsworth was on my bucket list so they’d bought & sent this booklet as a way of achieving that much of my bucket list in these Covid days. A great beam spread across my face, the biggest I’d had all week. Needless to say I had to phone to thank them for their thoughtfulness. Such kindness makes you feel loved.
