Viewed in a certain light, it’s an excellent chance to slow down, take stock and make the most of the enforced sofa-rest, cushioned by a pile of books, a stash of chocolate and box sets.
In normal life however, without my very own Mr Darcy, the washing piles up, The Teenager has started his A Levels, the cat insists on bringing home an endless parade of headless mice and Ocado have emailed, imploring me to book my Christmas Delivery Slot, NOW.
In between bouts of complete and utter exhaustion, I’m battling to keep the show on the road. Plus I’m trying to think laterally and use the time off not only to rest but also to get ahead, i.e. work my way through the entire University reading list for next term.
I had all the books delivered, settled down, unwrapped a bar of Green & Black’s and prepared to be inspired and transported to wondrous new worlds.
Bad idea. I checked the syllabus. I checked the books. I emailed the tutor. ‘New and Experimental Writing’. Let’s just say, I have no idea what Gertrude Stein was taking when she wrote ‘Blood on the Dining-Room Floor’.
However, I ploughed through, ticked her off my list and moved on to the next one. Excellent. Somehow, I have moved into a Poorly Routine. I get up early when I have most energy, do something outside the house, get back by lunch then snooze through the entire afternoon. Then, I wake up, cook dinner, snuggle under my blanket again and wait for bedtime. It’s been working. For a while.
Two days ago, same routine. I got up early. Then fell on the floor.
Oh. Painful doesn’t begin to describe it. I was in agony. I could barely walk and somehow made it downstairs through a combination of swearing, clinging on to the handrail and thumping. By some bizarre coincidence, I had booked in to see the chiropractor, more for The Teenager than for me (scrums, head-locks, dodgy balls).
Long story short, my psoas muscle is in spasm. The pain goes through my pelvis and groin and out through my lower back. Walking is excruciating. According to the chiropractor, it’s all due to my sudden inactivity. Lol.
When I told my MS nurse I planned to return to work ten days after Campath, she laughed, then said, ‘no you’re not’. Ok then. Quick call to The Boss to explain the situation. His reply? ‘Didn’t notice you were off, Half-Shift. Or should that be Sick-Note?’