B called back a decorator/builder this morning and he’s calling out any time now to give us a quote for some work and I’ve decided I’m not getting dressed. I’d thought about getting out of my jim jams this morning and decided that since I have to go for blood counts tomorrow and will have to get dressed for that I’d stay in my pyjamas today. Indeed just like yesterday although I’ll have you know I did change my jim jams when I had a shower last night.
Needless to say I was made it back from my holiday on Friday. One of the renal docs called in to see me and when he confirmed that I was indeed being discharged said ‘Your counts are low.’ ‘I know’ I responded. What I nearly said was ‘Well that’s haematology for you. If you can hobble out on your own off you go regardless of what your counts are as they’re desperate for beds’ but I decided I didn’t know him well enough or rather he didn’t know me well enough and may have thought I was being serious.
I think Bud was happy to see me, I was certainly happy to see him. Although I had forgotten what it was like waking up with the small furry family member wedged against my legs.
Generally I feel okay – tired but otherwise quite good but as the pharmacist said on Friday it will be next week when my counts bottom out that I’ll feel ropy. The skin on the back of my hands is doing a really good impression of alligator hide and my stomach skin has decided to respond with quite an extreme redness to any kind of sticky tape applied. Last night I’m sure a layer of skin came off when I removed the tape holding my peritoneal canula.
Speaking of last night, there I was straightening the quilt on the settee and may have been huffing and puffing a little, and my silver tongued husband came in and said ‘I miss the old Paula’.
B went shopping yesterday and I said that I’d make lasagna but he told me to have a rest and he’d buy some instead so that’s what we had for tea yesterday. Today however we’re having cottage pie – homemade cottage pie. B is making it. He’s already put the dishwasher on with the meagre amount of dishes used so far today in preparation for ‘making the cottage pie’. I’ve told him ‘It’s just cottage pie, not a seven course gourmet meal’ – I may have to eat my words – literally if the cottage pie sucks.