Thursday, September 4, 2014

The thing called energy...

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...