… is that Emilie the Cute Consultant still loves me. Or so she told me this afternoon at dialysis when she came to see me about the new medication.
The not-so-good news is that the pain in my foot is back after having been absent since Wednesday. I suppose that that’s the effect of this new medication wearing off since I took the last batch on Friday. I shall have to take some more tonight before going to bed.
Last night was rather a painless night, except that it was later than I wanted it to be, as usual. It was much closer to 23:00 when I finally crawled into my stinking pit after doing everything that needed doing.
And it was another really mixed night too, with moments of deep sleep followed by moments of turbulent tossing and turning, and so on. One thing for sure though was that when the alarm went off at 06:29, I was in one of the turbulent phases.
As usual, it took an age for me to sort myself out and head to the bathroom, and then into the kitchen for the hot drink and medication.
Back in here, I had a listen to the dictaphone, and what a miserable effort that was.
The last time that I changed my medication, the flow of dreams dried up for a while and it looks as if the same thing is happening right now. That’s a shame because, as I have said before … "and on many occasions too" – ed … I depend on my dreams for my excitement. It’s the best that I can do these days.
So with some free time on my hands, I watched the highlights of Sunday’s game between Connah’s Quay Nomads and Y Barri. But there was nothing of any real interest in the match – none of these “let’s play it out from the back, lads” catastrophes that seem to liven up more than just a few of these games.
The nurse turned up as usual, still his cheerful self, no doubt due to the fact that he’s off on his week’s break this evening.
After he left, I made breakfast and read some more of ESSAYS ON THE LATIN ORIENT by William A Miller.
Today, we were discussing the collapse of the Latin Empire in the Holy Land, and as usual, it makes dismal reading, all of these disputes amongst the Crusaders while the Moslem armies are gathering on their borders. How many times is this that the Europeans preferred to fight amongst themselves rather than make common cause against the “enemy”?
Back in here, I had a few things to do, and then I spent an hour revising my Welsh, seeing as we have no course for the next two weeks.
There was even time to start the next radio programme, and I actually made some headway with it too.
My cleaner turned up as usual to sort out my anaesthetic and then I had to wait for the taxi, which was twenty minutes late. There were already two other people on board, but luckily, I was dropped off first.
We were early arriving and, luckily, I was seen to quite quickly. And then they left me alone for most of the session.
As I mentioned earlier, Emilie the Cute Consultant came to see me. She told me that the dry throat was a side effect of one of the medicaments that she had prescribed for me. And she assured me that she still loves me, which was really quite nice. As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, it’s been worrying me for quite a while.
Being plugged in early was one thing. Being unplugged was quite another thing. When four people finish at the same time and there are only two nurses, it’s evident that someone will have to wait. And guess who drew the short straw?
Still, the taxi was waiting for me, but there was someone else to drop off and we became tangled up in roadworks. So it was just as late as it usually is.
My cleaner helped me back into the building, and after she left, I finished off my pizza and had some more trifle.
So now with the pain back in my foot … "and back in spades too" – ed … I’m off to bed for an early night.
But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about Emilie the Cute Consultant … "well, one of us has" – ed … I mentioned that I thought that she didn’t love me any more because of the suicide pills, and how I imagined her sitting at her desk with her fingers crossed.
"That’s not true at all!" she retorted.
"Really?" I asked.
"Yes, it is" she replied. "I’m paid according to the number of patients I treat, and if you die, I’d have to take a pay cut!"
