Back home again...

I’ve been home now for over two weeks and it’s been fantastic.  Waking up in my own house, eating what I want for breakfast, lunch and dinner and generally being more in control of my life is a joy.  The woofers are also an absolute joy – making every day brighter with their unbridled enthusiasm for life.  We could learn a lot from dogs I think.

 I’m not sure whether it’s quite as ‘joyful’ for Kevin, who has to wait on me hand and foot.  He is running around like a proverbial blue arsed fly; cooking, working, shopping, laundering (clothes not money) and trying to keep me upbeat and positive whilst staying sane.  Bless him, for someone with the tolerance and patience of Victor Meldrew it’s a big ask.  He also has to get up most nights about four hours after he’s finally gone asleep to escort me to the loo.  I phone him from downstairs for this – he loves that!  He doesn’t need to actually do anything, just be there in case I look like falling over.  It’s a whole new experience for me.  For years, any risk of falling over in the loo at three in the morning would be because I was still partying – how life has changed.

Chemo continues to go well – well being a relative term I guess.  I now have the delights of injecting myself with a white blood cell booster for five days of the three week cycle.  I also have the joys (and associated downs) of being off my face on steroids for 5 days of the cycle.  I continue to shop like a demon on the steroid up days – it’s costing me a fortune!  Having said all that however, I’m still getting an easier ride than many people I’ve heard about/spoken to who are going through or have gone through chemotherapy, so I’m not going to complain.

On the mobility front, it’s still an uphill slog.  I have now though (drum roll please) moved off the zimmer frame and onto a ‘rollator’!  Picture below ;-)

Yes, ladies & gentlemen, I now have a cool vibrant purple old ladies gadget thingy with built in seat and everything.  I have foregone the shopping basket attachment though.   And yes, I do find it ridiculous and yes, I am embarrassed.  But, needs must as they say and however ridiculous it is for me to think of myself needing one of these, if it gets me to the next stage (crutches), then so be it.

Apparently there are lots of these about, so I’m considering launching some competitions to liven up my days.  Fastest in a drag race, tightest cornering, artistic impression - all other suggestions welcome.  Although, the mortification of losing to someone in their nineties would probably stay with me longer than I intend my disability to be hanging around.  I’m also unsure of what my physios would have to say about such reckless use of NHS equipment.  I suspect I’d get a good telling off.

Oh well, in for a penny as they say - I’m popping outside now to practice my cornering...