2007 — 18 July: slo-mo dynamic duo

That's us. Very much more relaxed sleep, not without minor interruptions, but no more long, dark, tea-times of the soul now that my Best Gal's by my side zizzing away (or, at times, reading the Guardian as the fancy took her). The residual side-effects of the sleeping pills are wonderfully diminished, too. My nerve ends no longer seem to be buzzing like a Hornby-Dublo rectifier. And I like to think I was able to understand the bulk of Mike's note about his experiences using my Helios DVD player.

Breakfast beckons

It's already after 9 o'clock. First meds safely onboard. Male partner grabbing a very mixed bowl of cereals and an already nearly cold cuppa tea. Female partner washing, dressing, and now complaining She's "hungry". So She's now temporarily stowed on the downstairs bed to tuck into her fromage frais and cereal while I skulk upstairs typing this in. Next up, a few minutes after her food, come the Chemo pills, then the morphine at about 10 o'clock. Then I shall toddle off to do some local supplies shopping before the apparent deluge heading our way from the skies...

At least the missing Radio Times turned up by Junior version of despatch rider. Which reminds me, I must also pay the paper bill for all this unread nonsense accumulating downstairs.

High Noon

Christa's GP has decided to pop in sometime today during her lunchtime to see how we're settling down, I guess. I know she will have had a letter from the Chemo man describing the state of the union (as it were) and now presume she wants to see things for herself. This is goodness. I expect I shall confess to stopping her sleeping pill prescription (for me, that is, not Christa).

Been and gone...

Basically, everything you could want in a GP: Crisp, efficient, friendly,1 sympathetic, and sorry about the diagnosis of what they found. She took away a copy of the medication details to set about arranging easier repeat prescriptions. Gave us contact details for their district nurse, and her own colleague while she's away on a three-week summer break. (Turns out said colleague is the wife of one of the latest set of consultants.) She'll also set a flag against Christa's patient record details so they will know if I call in it's not likely to be a time-wasting call.

Then, courtesy of the ever-cheerful neighbour, off to Waitrose in the green 2CV to nab one of the "disabled" parking slots ("I can park anywhere, you know — I'm not well") and partially fill a trolley with further basic necessities. And now it's already nearly supper time. Must be Einstein at work somewhere, distorting the basic fabric of reality (if there is such a thing).



1  I didn't get the, erm, ticking-off I was more than half expecting about my decision to stop taking the sleeping pills. Mind you she did suggest I either halved the dose or cut them in half, or took them earlier in the evening. When I explained that they a) knocked me out like a light switch, and b) were already a minimalist 3.75mg dose ("Not 10mg? What did I prescribe? Oh, yes, Zopiclone; you must be very sensitive.") we agreed to defer the discussion until I see her this Friday. Personally, I'd prefer something that stops me feeling churned up inside.