The persistent burring of
the alarm sounds like it is at the bottom of the sea, well I wish it was, as I
turn over and pull the duvet over my ears.
The sound of voices and the
noisy skips of children on their way to school outside my bedroom window, or
the postman ringing the door bell with yet another parcel Mr H has ordered,
force me to push the duvet back. Those or another hospital appointment to go to!
After my shower I flop back
onto the bed, too tired to walk down the thirteen stairs to get breakfast. I long to sort out my underwear drawers as the
pretty bras I wore are no longer of use, the bras suitable for a breast
prosthesis are boring black and washout white. I want to find things at the
bottom of the airing cupboard but emptying it would be like entering a contest
for the strongest woman with no muscles! Mr H already does the ironing,
shopping and a lot of the cooking, as well as work, so these kinds of jobs will
have to wait…
A friend phones and my tears
tumble as I tell her how I am. I imagine how life was when walking was as easy
as eating cake, hanging washing out didn't leave me huffing and puffing and the
desire to sit down didn't dominant my mind, even more than cake!
The oncologist was right
about the impact of chemotherapy; of fatigue being incremental building up
from dose to dose.
But I have time to read
while sitting on my ‘summer holiday’ garden furniture I treated myself to,
Plan
new meals with my organic produce as my mouth waters, and take a short stroll along our lane to collect fallen
apples to make another Abel & Cole Mama Moore's Apple cake …
Oh and celebrate the end of Chemotherapy with a birthday present of Afternoon Tea at Thornbury Castle...
Who said healthy eating didn't include Cake...
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