It's early morning and the cats are chittering through the windows at the late fall grackles, and the dog and I have been for a long slooooow walk, two old biddies struggling along together. The sky has gone from early silver to a promising sharp blue, and my spirits are better than they were yesterday evening.
The good news yesterday was that while I was at the Hospital Pharmacy, the social worker who had been to see me when I was up on 3C came by. She's a good woman -- nothing sentimental about her at all -- and she promptly signed off on all my co-pays, since they came to over $70 and she knows I had to give up work as soon as I got my diagnosis. That made as much difference to my spirits as it did to my budget, and cheered me up no end.
Not a particularly good night's sleep -- too queasy and restless, and this nasty metallic taste in my mouth -- but basically I caught a few hours and feel a bit better this morning. Thank ghod today is a day off chemo and I can nap a lot and take it quietly.
And thank heavens for the cats who clearly sense when things are grim. Oscar scretches himself full length along the edge of the bed, like a great big hairy bumper. Harold curls into a little hedgehog ball and snugs himself into the crook of my knees. And Jeoffry wraps himself warmly round my feet. I feel a bit like one of those old time crusader effigies, the sort with his dog under his pointy feet.
I *told* you today would be a better day. Glad
it came true.