Day 18 – ‘Turning the air blue’

Determined to make amends for yesterday’s ‘dark’ day I awoke this morning full of positivity, this was firmly aided by the fact that through the corner of the black out curtain the rising sun was shining in, lighting up the whole bedroom ( a first for a long time)

I have found that what keeps me motivated is having a ‘target’, something to head towards, something to achieve. These targets needn’t be particularly large or unrealistically challenging , but when when achieved deliver a feeling of satisfaction. This worked particularly well when I was undergoing chemotherapy last time, unless you have been through it it is hard to comprehend how unbelievably debilitating the treatment is. As you advance through the cycles just getting up, showered and clothed is a massive achievement.

Every day MrsC would leave me a list of ‘chores’, in an ever decreasing spiral of physical ability these got less demanding as time went on, but provided a vital psychological boost and a much needed sense of achievment for successfully ‘washing the bedding and put on the line’ or ‘hoover the guest room and dust the mantelpiece’ , gripping stuff.

So, I lay there in bed contemplating what I could possibly do that day. That list of ‘jobs’ around the house that was there before surgery is still there, no magic fairy came and did them whilst I was away, yes indeed they were very much there and at the forefront of my mind.

I indulged myself fantasising about being outside doing ‘stuff’ around the garden, unfortunately these flight of fancy ignored my current incapacity which my thoughts were cunningly ignoring.

By now MrsC was out of the bed and sat at the dressing table applying her makeup. (There is now an unspoken rule that she uses the bathroom first before I get up and empty little Simon. It works for all concerned)

Without a thought for my future marital welfare I broke the silence…

“I think I will move that pile of soil at the front of the house today”

As soon as the words had left my mouth I realised the folly of my utterances, almost bracing myself for the reply I sank deeper under the safety of the duvet.

OMG, the phrase ‘got it both barrels’ didn’t do it justice. With profanities that would make a navvie blush I lay there ears pinned back as I was severely admonished.

*with profanities removes

The gist of the scolding was absolutely correct.

‘You don’t go through all this to risk an injury which will jeopardise your recovery – ‘

‘If you injure yourself and you delay chemo – on your head be it’

‘I can’t believe how stupid you are, you silly sausage’ (heavily redacted from the original version)’

Of course she was right (he says through gritted teeth) , what was I thinking, I know what I was thinking, I want to prove something. But to who, and why.

I resigned myself to the fact I would eat humble pie for the rest of the day. I was well and truly owned.

The thing about recovery is that it is incremental. Tiny little improvements, slowly slowly catchy monkey. I have already lost over a stone in weight, which is fine in some respects but a part of that will also be due to muscle wastage or atrophy. I am very conscious of this and try to be as physical as I can extending the distance more and more each day.

What started at the weekend as one circuit around the house is now up to multiple circuits around where we live.

I don’t think Mo Farrah has anything to worry about but by the time the 6 week Mark is here I want to cycling 15 miles. Uh oh Iv done it again. Braces for the verbal barrage from MrsC.

One good thing is that it has connected me with the wider neighbourhood.

The people in ‘Tresco’ seriously need to trim their rhododendron, maybe il offer to do it.. doh