I’m going back into work on Monday…after being off for the past seven weeks. Seven weeks! Thankfully I’m going back three days a week for the rest of the month so I’ll be taking it easy…and making the most of being able to say no to things for a while.
“I can’t do that, I’ve got to take it easy…doctors orders” will become my most used phrase.
The cardiologist I seen this week said he has no concerns at the minute, not even that I feel my heart flutter/do a mini jump a few times a day – which is a bit unnerving when it happens – but he wasn’t bothered about it so it must be normal. I go to see him again in three months to do a shit load more tests when he’ll be able to tell if the heart has repaired itself.
On top of adjusting to my heart being a bit rubbish, I went to see the hand surgeon again on Monday and I need to have a second operation on my wrist. Last years surgery didn’t work. So he’s cutting me open again and doing some other ‘bone graft attached to blood vessels’ thing in my wrist next month. Joy of joys.
Although I feel good in myself, I could do with going out and getting shit-faced, but I can’t. Like the rest of the world, I’ve been advised against “binge drinking”, but in my situation having more than a couple could course problems at the minute. “Everything in moderation: a couple of units are ok”…which I translate to: it’s not even worth it. I’d drink them before the barmaid had had a chance to give me back my change. Weekends just aren’t the same…but I’ll be back!
Before Christmas, when I’d send an email to the family in the UK telling them I’d done something brilliant over here, I’d always sign off ‘living the dream’. Now I’m just signing off with an alive/dead status: “Living…”
Yes, I am that funny.
(I realise that last paragraph doesn’t fit in with anything else in this post, but sod it. It just popped into my head and made me laugh).