73. Reconciled

Today I woke with a yelp and a suppressed scream. I’d forgotten for a moment that I have an injured chest - not a lol moment. However, the Naproxen is now doing its anti-inflammatory job (I’m not taking the additional recommended paracetamol unless I get desperate) and I’ve learn that I need to sit upright or be moving around if I want to avoid pain. As the Naproxen needs to be taken with food, I’m eating way more than usual, which can only be good.

Several calls about the car but basically they can’t do any more till they get the car key. Why did the police leave it with me? Why, for that matter, did I take it out of the ignition - as if anyone could have nicked it! However, I’ve reconciled myself to what happened, rationalised as much as I can and in the end it boils down to the fact that accidents happen. Part of me would like to see the cctv to understand but another part wonders what that would achieve. It happened. I drove badly. My pride is damaged. I’m positive it had nothing to do with poor judgment linked to chemotherapy, just poor judgment and the wrong instinctive reaction - scary but apparently not that rare for people who have changed over to automatic cars.

So now it’s wait and see if it can be repaired after all or should be written off at such a youthful age. I can manage without in the meantime. I’ve made an appointment to see Judy next Wednesday - I may ask someone to drive me there, I may get a cab. Good job I’m rolling in money eh! I certainly wouldn’t drive, given the state of my sternum. I wouldn’t consider myself safe. See? I do have some sense. Dennis is very concerned about my driving now, but I think that’s more his reaction to my being in a crash.

So I am stuffed to the gills, having already had three meals today (including tantrum stew), with another big snack at least on the cards. I have the Paclitaxel numb fingertips and the foamy mouth has started. If the schedule is as usual, tomorrow I will feel like shit but today has been good, with a lovely planter from Joyce and plenty of reading out in the sun, wrapped to the ears against the breeze. Despite all that’s happened, I feel (almost) good. I can see so many good things, like my absence of shock, my handling A&E without anxiety - these little miracles are lifting my spirits and there’s only 3 chemos to go.

Quite how I’ll manage the tattoo process with a sore chest, I don’t know. That may have to be deferred but - I find this almost unbelievable - both adjuvant oncology nurses are on leave till next week. Fancy leaving patients with no one to turn to except the poor oncology nurses who barely know if they are coming or going!!