It’s good to be home.
The NHS has done its wonderful best, and the first surgery went OK, I think, although I can’t comment because I wasn’t really there. A chunky cancerous lump was ripped from its moorings and taken away to be frowned at, or fed to the crocodiles, or exorcised, or whatever it is that they do with these things. (Look, I’m a clinical psychologist – I don’t deal with the physical stuff so I don’t know, OK?)
I’m home and I have yarn, and I’ve spent the last few days lounging on the garden bench in the sunshine watching dragonflies have airborne sex, and pretending to myself that it’s still summer whilst next door’s bullace tree throws warning shots of autumn at me in the form of yellowing leaves. Every time I begin to doze off, another leaf lands surprisingly noisily on my ear/nose/drink/book.
I think I’m doing OK, although the fact that two red kites are circling above me, clearly anticipating carrion, suggests that they think otherwise.
The bad news is that it’s now several weeks since I last saw Robyn-the-robin. (I know, I know, she’s the only reason you visit this blog.) Whilst she might have migrated just like she did last year, I’m not feeling optimistic. She’s not a young bird, and the last few times I saw her, she had some nasty tick bites on her head. It’s a cruel world out there.
The last time I saw her, I told her that I loved her. She ignored me and carried on eating her mealworms. But I just had a gut feeling that I might not see her again. If this really is the end, I shall miss her very, very much.
Meanwhile, I’ve been doing very little of anything. It’s a rare luxury to lounge here guilt-free – not that I’m advocating cancer as a way of getting out of washing the dishes, you understand (well, not unless you really really hate washing the dishes). But it’s been an interesting experience to just sprawl on this bench, dozing intermittently and occasionally wondering what day it is.
I haven’t even been doing much knitting. The one thing I have been pushing myself to do is walking. On day one post-surgery I walked one mile – very slowly and in a public place, just in case of any bodily failures. On day two I managed two miles, and then three miles on day three and four miles yesterday, which was day four. The mathematical geniuses amongst you will have spotted a pattern emerging here. The practical geniuses amongst you will have realized that this pattern cannot be continued indefinitely. (Day thirty-two post surgery, and Twisted sets her alarm for 4.30am in order to be sure of completing the day’s walk…)
But most importantly, thank you, you far too lovely lot, for all of your comments and messages and encouragement. There’ll be yucky treatment and probably more surgery in my near future, but in the meantime, I’ll do my best to get back to the knitting.
So happy to hear you are through surgery and are walking and resting! You truly are a warrior woman! Well done! I send you prayers/thoughts of healing & strength. Just know that you are very dear to this reader and that you through your blog have touched me (I know that sounds a little creepy!) with your sarcasm, knitting & pictures. You are getting better and healthy every day and I am so glad for it!
Get well soon … not much more to say without sounding gushy and thats not my thing. But the wishes are true and earnest for a speedy recovery.
You seem to be doing very well, all that walking! Didn’t know robins migrated; thought they stayed around all winter. Hence being on Christmas cards in the snow.
Glad to hear the surgery went well – I have been thinking of you, even though I don’t comment very often. x
Pas de projet. Prenez chaque jour comme il vient. une joie simple mais qui soutient. Profitez de votre jardin, regardez votre tas de pelotes de laine qui vous attendra tranquillement .Chimio et masectomie en 2019 et reprise du tricot, des fleurs, du chant des oiseaux, du bruit de l’eau début 2020.
ça va aller. je vous embrasse. Caroline
Pas de projet. Prenez chaque jour comme il vient. une joie simple mais qui soutient. Profitez de votre jardin, regardez votre tas de pelotes de laine qui vous attendra tranquillement .Chimio et masectomie en 2019 et reprise du tricot, des fleurs, du chant des oiseaux, du bruit de l’eau début 2020.
ça va aller. je vous embrasse. Caroline
My husband is a retired psych nurse. He says that if he came upon a medical emergency all he could do is talk to the afflicted person about how they feel about their car accident/heart attack/fall down the stairs.
Very happy to see you back so quickly. You may have lost a cancerous lump (yeah!) but you clearly have retained your sense of humour! Sending best wishes from Canada.
I’m so glad to hear you are recovering. I’ve just finished re-reading your blog and admiring your colourwork projects
Sending you love and prayers
Just sending you love, hugs and healthy vibes. I’m impressed that you were up and walking so quickly, must be a good sign. Hope the rest of your treatment goes well.
Have not seen an update from you and hope that it is just because you are indulging in some down time and well deserved rest. Positive thoughts and prayers from “across the pond” for a smooth recovery and positive news.
Maureen
I am also hoping your treatment and recovery are going well. Time for tea and soups for dinner here where the temps will be hovering at the 0 mark. I know, ALREADY! Poor little trick or treaters.
Still thinking of doing the Florence pattern for a sofa pillow. As soon as I finish my sweater with a two color work yoke! Trying not to have too many things going, am not a monogamous knitter.
Keep the faith and find joy in every day!
Sending you best wishes. I really enjoy your messages! Your humor and joy make me feel better. I’m in America and we have a terrible disease raging here; it’s good to read your cheerful blog. Thanks so much! Jane ????????????????
Hi, I hope you stay well and happy. You are so strong. Maybe even more than you know. I wish you have a happy and peaceful life.