The 17th of February. Today has been much better. Well, emotionally. Physically, it was not so good. I woke up and found I was incapable of bending my left leg. I must have done something very drastic and weird in my sleep because there was a significant visual difference between my knees, and I had to be assisted in getting dressed and downstairs. It was hard enough to drag my leg out of bed!
So I spent my morning with my leg up on a stool and the ice pack. At lunchtime, I managed to get to the kitchen, bending my knee very slowly and slightly, and over a couple of hours, I was able to bend it enough to put my trainers on and get into the car to go to clinic. I had to wear my trainers as they're the only shoes I have that go with the jogging bottoms I had to wear because they're the only trousers I have that could accommodate my swollen knee.
Ram was actually happy with everything, and gave my knee a squidge before realising he's forgotten everything about orthopaedics, so was no help. We then had to get a massive prescription which took pharmacy 40 minutes to put together.
Then there was a tedious journey home, and tonight I am just hoping to get to sleep relatively easily without being in too much pain.
The 18th of February.
My knee is better today, hallelujah! I am able to bend my leg and wear jeans an' everythin'! I also had a fairly big sleep (for me), so I feel pretty good today. This morning I had a few tiny aches, like my knee hurt a tiny bit, my line site hurt a tiny bit, when I coughed it hurt a tiny bit - cumulatively, it felt like I'd been beaten up by tiny fists. But I'm okay now.
Mommy washed my hair after This Morning, which also contributed to me feeling good. It needed washing, but I couldn't kneel yesterday or lean into the shower before that.
This afternoon, I had a phone call that I will reveal more detail about at a later date if anything comes to fruition from it. While I was talking, Anne-Marie rang so I had to ask her to ring back, then some guys rang the doorbell about some leaflets that weren't delivered - obviously someone hasn't done their job. Whoops.
Every so often, I just get hit by the enormity of all this. While I'm still well, it doesn't really feel real, that I'm going to die. I hate not knowing how much time I have; the uncertainty. Oscar gave me the fright of my life tonight - he made a weird growl in his sleep, I looked down at him (he was sleeping under the radiator behind my chair) and I really thought he'd stopped breathing. He'd sitting on my lap now. But I hate that soon enough, that'll be me that stops breathing. And I won't get back up.