Sure it was the fish and chips I thought as I threw up yet again into a too small pedal bin. Yes it missed again, and again and again. I know it missed because my feet and pyjamas (and all parts below)kept me well informed as the night wore on.I had arrived at the bathroom in a hurry without illuminating said room and so as the brilliant sun came up on yet another red hot morning I was able to survey the devastation around me! I was still enthroned and still throwing up with unrelenting regularity and I was stuck, in more ways than one. To go forward I could not,the well splattered glass shower screen was before me, left, the wall and to my right a veritable sea of sick. Every time I tried to stand a foot would slip, dire warnings about falls and my osteoporosis kept me sitting as the morning progressed.
So, time to think. Whilst thinking the lake became larger. I thought some more about the immediate predicament, about how very tired I was, about my dog having a fit the day before, but most of all how much I missed my husband.
The phone rang – cold call. I looked at the clock. Help;3.30 and nothing planned for tea. Too late to shop, even if I was fit or inclined enough. Should I just carry on reading and order a takeaway? No I have to save that for bad M.S. days not I’m bad wasting all day reading days!
The fridge does not inspire – open or closed. Requires some T.L.C. A rather sad looking peach rolls forward closely followed by a plum and I rescue them from attempt to self destruct on the floor. Search of the fruit bowl; carefully concealed beneath the new stuff some wrinkled apples and a pear. Some judicious chopping and peeling, a dollop of honey, sprinkle of cinnamon and the sugar, butter and flour – in rather random proportions – and a crumble is in process. Exhausted by my creativity I return to my book – but guilt prevails. A second sortie to the fridge; one salmon fillet, some new potatoes – some rather doubtful salad ingredients. More chopping and tearing, a reasonable salad – well-dressed of course, not in pyjamas like myself! Well it is a good book!
There’s a clattering on the stairs and a shout from the hall
” Don’t make me any tea – I’m off out – not sure what time I’ll be back.”
I shove everything back into the fridge, grab a handful of biscuits and return to my book. I reflect that I won’t have to worry about tea tomorrow. Result!
I have arrived at that point in my life where I try to avoid ‘getting to grips’ with any ‘new’ technology but it comes at me when I’m pointedly looking the other way; rather as we used to at school if the teacher asked if anyone would like to read out their homework. I was daydreaming my way through my Memoir class when the words ‘set up’ and ‘blog’ caught my attention. So I find myself – when all my creativity has gone into setting up the relevant page – attempting my first.
After the class I had to dash off to the theatre. I know dash and M.S. don’t go together but time was of the essence. We arrived at our places, drinks were produced and, as the lights went down, I was handed a sandwich. White linen jacket on the arm of my seat fell to the floor and carefully combined with orange drink at my feet. I mopped one up with the other. Sandwich wrapper almost defeated me – and the large- headed man in the seat in front. He nearly said something as he turned – I could feel his words hovering in the ether – but Falstaff boomed louder and he turned his attention back to the stage and I to my sandwich. I took a large bite and found myself crunching my way through a tooth – the dreaded baguette had struck again!
I abandoned tea in favour of the rather blurry figures on the stage and strained to hear the quieter dialogue of Henry 4th part two. When the lights went up for the interval I discovered that I now had an orange and white linen jacket; a missing front incisor; my reading glasses instead of my distance glasses and my hearing aids in the wrong ears. The second half of the play was much better in all respects.