I made a break for freedom on Sunday when a friend enticed me outside with the offer of brunch and some retail therapy. He quickly walked ahead of me as I yelled, ‘Hello trees! Hello shops! I’m out!’ and grinned manically at everyone I passed in the street.
Two hours later he dropped me back home, full of coffee but exhausted. My leg was throbbing and as I peeled my jeans off the bruise spread even further. Oops.
I have a sinking feeling the injury will take a lot longer to heal than I first thought. I’m not going anywhere this week, so I skulk around the house and spend far too much time on my sofa.
When The Teenager comes home from school, I bribe him with cake in the vain hope he will sit down long enough to tell me what it’s like in the outside world but all he wants to do is have another look at my bruise before heading upstairs to tweet and get up to the next level of Candy Crush (no idea).
I have set up a Command Centre from my sofa – everything I need is within reach. Remote control, magazines, mobile phone, Bacon Bites. I have watched every programme on my Sky Planner and now have to resort to watching Catherine Cookson adaptations and angry people shouting at each other on Jeremy Kyle.
Friends and family have been brilliant. My mum comes round every day with gossip and my latest batch of laundry. A friend dropped off a huge Victoria sponge on Saturday. Even the cat is behaving, although we argue over duvet rights on the sofa.
My days are punctuated by painkillers and chocolate (it’s medicinal). I really should get cracking on my next essay. I need to put an online shopping order in. My bank statements are staring at me from my desk. The dust balls are having a party and my garden is sadly neglected. Life is on hold.
I remain optimistic though. MS has taught me to expect the unexpected. Soon enough, things will return to normal. In the meantime, a friend is coming over soon with the new issue of Grazia and I’m going to chuck the cat off my duvet. Again.