“Not in my arm,” I say to the doctor as I arrive at the front of the queue. “I’ve had all my nodes out so…you know: I don’t want lymphodoema…in my leg please.” Lifting up my skirt, I expose my left thigh.
“Oh, OK, sure,” the doctor says, plunging the needle into my leg and then throwing the syringe into a bin. “All done.” He smiles. Don’t recognise him: he must be a new one.
Following the line of octogenarians, I wait outside for Dad. We’re at the GP surgery with all the other at-risk-people for our yearly flu jabs: basically a hundred pensioners and me.
“Can’t believe we’ve got to walk home as well now,” Dad says, holding a cottonwool ball to his injection site, carrying his sweater and coat.
“Here, let me hold your coat,” I say, as Dad struggles to put on his jumper.
We amble home. It’s good to have some human company on my walk for once. The panther stalks down the road beside us, keeping close to me, padding on huge paws.
Achievements of the day include:
1. Push self hard at Spin – see graph. Manage an average effort of 78% with a lot of time in the 80s:
2. Pick up some prescriptions from chemist and request some more. Am on so many meds at the moment.
3. Watch The Musgrave Ritual with parentals.
4. Walk to and from the doctor – 40 minutes.
5. Body scan and rest although can’t sleep.
6. Walk twice round the block – 30 minutes.
7. See a thrush on my walk.
Am feeling a bit better now that am back with the parentals and my fluffy monster, so that’s good.
Happy Tuesday everyone!
*1893. By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes detective story, first published in the Strand magazine and later in The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.