2007 — 5 September: cushions and CT scans

Just after 9:20 already. Had to reboot my little in-house router a few minutes ago before it would play nicely with the outside world, though that should no longer mean "molehole" was off the air. (Shades of the cobbler and the poorly-shod state of his kids... This cobbler's kid confirmed the website was available to him from London this morning when it wasn't available to me.)

Some meds and brekkie going onboard as She grapples with the crossword. The GP had some useful advice and a suggestion about adjusting one of the meds during her early morning phone call. We shall try it tonight as there was a bit too much pain round about midnight last night. And at one, two, and four o'clock. Two morphine top-ups and an ice pack needed. So although in-between She mostly slept like a log, we both had quite a fretful night. This could be why I'm on simple diary typing duty this morning while She handles the heavier intellectual tasks. Still, at least I can now nip downstairs to sort out Her muesli. Done! Time to publish.

Be seated!

A nice lady from the palliative care team is downstairs as I type, helping Christa try out an impressive range of cushions to try to sort out one or more that will help Her to sit without pain. I, meanwhile, remain on sentry duty for the meals on wheels delivery, though it is now (12:20) too late for Christa to eat hers before the scheduled CT scan this afternoon. Double dose1 for Mounce, heh? And the Humax is quietly watching the 1945 film The Way to the Stars for us, also ready for our consumption2 — I hope — during what will be a more tranquil evening. Some of the cushions were fairly spectacular,3 incidentally, and we have now been lent three that each seemed particularly promising. Watch this space.

Thank you, Mike!

For conveying us to and from the CT scan session. She now has several "X marks the spot" signs to remind them exactly where to point the business end of the linear accelerator (starting next Wednesday). Let's hope they have a shilling for the meter (for those of you old enough to remember the Tony Hancock episode The Radio Ham.) But, before that, it's time for the third EPO injection of this cycle.



1  I should be so lucky. It was the first thing She scoffed down within a minute or so of our arrival home. The poor thing was starving!
2  Not quite the barrel of laughs of Anthony Asquith's pre-war Pygmalion of course, but a melancholy and very poignant masterpiece of its genre.
3  One, in particular, would have looked at home on the wall of a fetish club in Berlin (in my inexperienced opinion, I hasten to add).