My second night where, although exhausted, sleep hasn’t come easy. One of the things about being ripped open like Christmas is having to sleep on your back as the scar and chest heal. It’s not my usual style, so I have a mound of pillows for support to keep me upright, like the princess with the pea. I’m wearing my invisible tiara.
I’m cutting down on painkillers and that rat poison warfarin keeps changing, so the drugs may be having an impact too. Some of the meds are supposed to give me vivid dreams … If only! It’s all been a bit of a dream, full of Chinese paintings and alligators and floods and curtains getting changed at midnight in the hospital.
I’m trying to catch up with 9 months backlog of Doctor Who Monthly, started reading books again but hiding from daytime TV.
And people are being kind. Cards, good wishes, hampers, DVDs, a family offering 24/7 support. Return to living on my own in the flat where I collapsed is a daunting prospect, as is yet more surgery. This time last year I was just coming to terms with cancer and losing my least favourite testicle.
But Peter Capaldi is the new Doctor, and tonight I might sleep. Apparently my scar ‘looks great’ but not to me. I’m going to pretend it’s a shark-bite or an attempt at cyber-conversion. I’m still hoping to be Upgraded …