Progress?

Progress??
Really???

I don't like to tempt Fate for fear of a sharp rap over the knuckles in the form of another unforeseen setback, as so many times before, but although I'm by no means out of the woods yet, there are definite signs of improvement since I last posted two weeks ago.

The most important change is that I have more energy, both physical and mental, which makes a huge difference to my quality of life because I have greater capacity for enjoying it, rather than just tolerating it. It makes me rather better company for Julia too, instead of the Miserable Moaning Minnie she usually lives with.

Medically my blood counts have remained stable for the last fortnight and I've suffered no new afflictions or infections, which is already a very welcome change from the norm of the recent past. The sterile ulcer on my right eye has apparently healed, so I am no longer in immediate danger of going blind which is nice!

And my back, though still painfully stiff, especially in the mornings, is much better than it was. Massage never seemed to make a positive difference, but regular use of Deep Heat cream and a conscious attempt to take a little more exercise do seem to have helped. I'm not exactly the lithe and supple athlete I never was, but at least it's less of a struggle than it used to be to get out of bed and hobble downstairs to the safety of the armchair.

So the major daily issues I am grappling with now are breathlessness, which I feel is at least partially linked to the back pain, and eating. I still get all my nutritional needs overnight through the NG tube up my nose, but am hoping that a combination of gradual general improvement in my condition and slowly reintroducing my palette to normal food will start to make a difference there too.

As for the breathing, I sometimes feel as if there is a demon on my back who, after jabbing me with his pitchfork, then takes pleasure in squeezing me so tight around the middle that I am fighting to take the next breath. Slightly scary occasionally, but so far no worse than that.




To quote someone rather more famous than I about a situation of rather greater significance: "Now this is not the End, it is not even the Beginning of the End, but perhaps it is the End of the Beginning".




Light at the end of the tunnel?
Let's hope so.





PS re my post of 11th November, the new Archbish was in the year above me at school, I discover, so maybe that's why our paths never crossed

Donkey Derby

I feel like a donkey.

Not hung like one perhaps, and not always as obstinate as one.

But I feel like a donkey in a derby.

 

My rider is dangling the Carrot of Recovery tantalisingly in front of my nose, always there but always just out of reach, and as I strive for it more desperately with each stride, he belabours me the while from behind with an armoury of sticks, using a fresh one every time he breaks one over my backside.

This week's fresh stick is a severely stiff back which makes any movement a trial and also makes me grunt and puff at any activity, however minor, like sitting down or standing up or turning over in bed. My back has been complaining for a while, but this week it has been doing so much more loudly than before. Every time I move, it grabs me round the middle and squeezes the breath out of me. So what to do?

We went to the GP, who at least confirmed that he thought it was muscular-skeletal and not a symptom of some deeper or more sinister malaise, and he will arrange for me to be seen by a physiotherapist. We suspect it is a product of my extremely sedentary lifestyle which consists mainly of struggling from the bed to the armchair and back again, and Julia has been encouraging me to take more exercise, even if it's just walking round the block once or twice a day. She is right of course, loath though I often am to admit it because I like my bed and my armchair. And I'm lazy. Though in my defence I would say that I'm not exactly brimming with energy at the moment.

So, more exercise it is, which, coupled with my continuing weekly massages, does seem to have made a difference in the last few days. Perhaps the carrot is just a little bit closer....

I have to administer drugs to myself three times a day with a syringe via the naso-gastric tube and often listen to music as I do so to relieve the tedium somewhat, pumping the syringe in time to Roy Orbison's 'Only the Lonely', to pick an appropriate example. By such means do I wring a few drops of enjoyment from the husk of my desiccated life. And it reminds me of my dear cousins Linda and Eli, with whom I shared a house in my early twenties. They invented a Dishcloth Dance to alleviate the boredom of drying up after dinner, sashaying and pirouetting round the kitchen brandishing dishcloths and various items of tableware. Happy memories! And it has just occurred to me now what an appropriate use of CHOREography that was. Geddit??!

Finally to the new Archbishop of Canterbury, why not?

He is 3 months older than me and educated at the same institutions of Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge, so I would assume we were in the same year, unless he was very bright and a year ahead or, whisper it soft, a bit thick and a year behind. Whatever the case, I have zero recollection of either his face or his name. And this time it's not just my Forgettery, because I checked with some old schoolmates who couldn't remember him either, except for one who had a vague memory of someone 'quite small?'. So sadly I cannot ring him up and ask him to put in a few words on my behalf with the Big G. Shame. I could do with a little assistance from that quarter.