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.