I have not written a single word since 27 February. Not one. That last post was full of bitterness and frustration, all related to my struggles navigating the National Disability Insurance Agency/Scheme. No, I didn't fall off the face of the planet nor did I enter into a temporary comatose state (though the prospect of totally reversible unconsciousness was almost on the agenda). In fact, March has been super busy, with appointments galore, the ongoing dance with the NDIA/S, a Gallery Sundowner, a family reunion and the birth of our second divine grandbaby.
I have begun posts on a number of occasions throughout this month. But the world kept turning faster than I could run. Fatigue became my firm friend and I found myself crawling into bed at ridiculously early hours, desperate to sleep well and wake up refreshed...Eventually the truth was out there, staring me in the face. I had not changed my CPAP mask cushion for a couple of months and leakage was depriving me of the required airflow to keep the muscles of my throat open. A new cushion helped alleviate my chronic exhaustion, but there were other elements at play as well.
After complaining about 2022's late and wet spring, I was now heartily tired of the heat. I really am becoming grumpy in my advancing years. I now dislike both the height of summer and the depths of winter. The laundry basket also reflects these extremes of seasons. In hot weather, all items have to be washed after each wearing, due to rampaging Underarm Soakadaemia and Aroma Incredibelus. In winter, I can wear the same brassiere over at least two days, given the absence of the above conditions. However, winter clothing is so bulky that a couple of pairs of jeans, a few shirts, the odd jumper and heavy socks fill the bloody machine far more quickly.
Apart from keeping the dirty washing monster at bay, Piddling and Poohing Pip continues on his merry way, leaving unpleasant puddles and unsavoury parcels all over the house. Last night, one of my worst nightmares was realised as I trod, barefoot of course, into a squishy and smelly offering left in the entry to the laundry. Oh happy day...Hobbling outside, I blasted the squelchy substance off my lowest appendage as well as I could possibly manage with the courtyard hose. Not entirely satisfied with the outcome, I then lurched inside to our bathroom, for the purpose of scrubbing the horrid remains off with hot water and soap.
Fortunately for both Michael and Paula, they spied Pip's unwanted presents on the lino and did not stand in the messes. On another positive note, Chop has finally welcomed Paula as a bona fide member of our house by leaving half a mouse for her delectation...
Finally, I blame my lack of writing on the fact that last Thursday, I had half my brain removed by the delicious Doctor Daram, my MOHS surgeon to the stars. I have waxed lyrically about his gorgeousness in prior posts. Visits to his rooms are a complex mix of delight, fear, usually some discomfort, laughter and rather a lot of chatting (on my behalf). I think Daram encourages me to talk whilst under the knife so I reduce my amount of colourful language. Anyway, during this latest procedure, the excision on my head resembled an Egyptian eye symbol prior to being sewn up with thirteen incredibly neat stitches. Another Basal Cell Carcinoma was the culprit, an innocuous red dot hiding in my hair. The local quack can take my stitches out two weeks post-op and we will see Daram again in September when I will once more perform an unwilling strip show.
I have given a tiny snippet of our adventures thus far in March. I hope to get my act together again tomorrow and provide a couple of detailed updates that I hope will not bore you silly...
Till next time.
My default position for much of this month...
No comments:
Post a Comment