This morning I was rudely awoken by one of my old CF nurses (not that she’s an old nurse, but old as in don’t-really-see-them-any-more – sorry Cass) arriving to flush my port – a quick and simple injection-type thing to keep the permanent IV line in my shoulder patent should it need to be used again, which – touch wood – it won’t.
It’s been over a month since I last saw any of my CF team, which is a bizarre thought and feeling given how much of my life was taken up by visiting, calling and staying in touch with them over the last few years, increasingly so in the year leading up to my op. Since I last bumped into them (which, actually, was the first time since the Tx) three of the team have run the Reading half-marathon to raise money for my old unit, which they managed to do to the tune of nearly £3,500 – impressive, to say the least.
Cass is now fully addicted to running and is well up for Reading again next year. After my trip to Durham and Stephen’s rampant encouragement to join them in a half-marathon and then the full distance, I can already hear my brain ticking over the possibility of joining the team to run it with them next year. It’d be an amazing story, I reckon: ex-patient (well, technically not “ex”, but not really massively dependent on them any longer) joins former clinical team to run half a really long way (which is still a really long way, interestingly) to raise money for the unit and the patients still being treated by them. Not that I’m always looking for the PR angle, of course…
Anyway, it was great to see Cass and catch up on the goss from the unit and what everyone’s up to – particularly all those who’d had the audacity to shoot off and drop sprogs before my op. I’m happy to say that they’re all doing really well, even the ones who aren’t sleeping due to badly trained offspring.
Following my port flush (and I must apologise to Cass again, as she didn’t really wake me up and she did bring breakfast with her…) I pottered around the house, flicked through the new copy of GQ which had dropped through the letter box this morning, then woke K for a quick trio to the hospital to return a pain machine which she’d had on trial. It did absolutely nothing for her, so it was quite a quick appointment, following which we headed straight home.
Mama K was in the area with a friend, so they swung by for a cuppa and, in the spirit of the day, brought cake with them, too. We sat and chatted and caught up (it’s been too long since we saw her) and K used the opportunity to show off her new smoothie-making toy. It’s become a bit of an obsession this smoothie-making lark, ever since we picked up the Braun blender-on-a-stick thingy at the raffle in Durham. They’re not really my cup of tea, but it’s a quick and easy 2 or 3 of K’s 5-a-day, so who’s complaining?
After they left, I sat down to the computer for the first time in anger in over a week and started to plough through my emails and catch up on a whole host of stuff I’d fallen way behind on, followed by having a blitz of the various piles of post that were laying around the study and clearing the backlog in a not-unimpressive way.
When she finished work it was my mum’s turn to swing by for a cuppa and a catch up as we’ve not seen her for ages either. I saw my Dad on Monday when I popped home for the washing, which has left my dear mother feeling somewhat left out.
When she left, after a decent catch up and news-swapping, I jumped back in the study to carry on clearing until another friend turned up to pay up his holiday money for May, which K and I have organised. We chilled and had another cuppa (starting to sound like Right Said Fred, this), then K cooked and I ate dinner, followed by washing up and a little more chillage on the sofa.
I’m off now to catch Episode 2 of the Apprentice, which always manages to hook me, not matter how dense and useless the candidates appear to be. Or perhaps precisely because they’re so dense and useless. Either way, my body is screaming for an early night and for once, I’m not going to argue.
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