Learning to Go Out Again

Its very odd – I feel like some sort of victim of a road crash or a mini stroke where you have to re-learn your behaviours again, as I now have to get back into the habit of this thing called 'popping out of the house'.

It's got ever so cozy hanging out here – lovely stream of visitors, nice blow heater next to the sofa lulling me off to sleep every few hours, Daily Telegraph, Law & Order and CSI for entertainment and a fridge full of very naughty nibbles to shovel down to the perenially unsatisfied stomach demon, constantly demanding more food.. BUT – the time has come to venture out a bit more, and very oddly, its quite a scary prospect. Think I have indeed become institutionalised – firstly within the hospital walls and now within the Stroud Road enclave. Even popping 200 yards to Sainsburys Local is a bit of an effort, and today I have to think about getting on the noisy metal fast thing full of people called 'the tube' to meet Hawskey up in town (the big one, which I seem to remember is called London).

And beyond daytime ventures there is also the need to get back itno the swing of something that I think was called 'going out' in the evening. Something I used to be really rather good at, racking up at least 4-5 ventures per week to all sorts of destinations. And even doubling or trebling things up, going from one encounter to another – god, I can hardly imagine heading through the front door when its dark at the moment, really need to get back into the swing!

So – have a second cinema trip booked for this Sat as well as the 'meet you at Embankment' challenge today. Will it happen? Will I bottle it? Wil I stay awake long enough to get off at the right stop, or end up in bloody Upminster / Cockfosters? Have to get a grip in the next few weeks or will never make it back to work, which hopefully will happen in a month or so. All you grubby gits who've been making a mess in the kitchen on our floor -be warned, the Queen of Clean is returning!

Also had a right old locking of horns with Prof yesterday… me asking what I see as reasonable questions ('what do you think of the paraprotein being 5 now from 6 when I went into hospital'? 'what signs are you tracking to know if things are going well or not'? 'what treatment options would be in store if things go badly, and how minimally will we see each other if things are going well'?) and him deflecting everything with seemingly obscure tangential answers ('it's all about how man used to be in flooded caves…. and dogs eating each other') – what the fuck??

Got really frustrated as just have no indicators for whether things are good or bad (its not like having necrotising fasciitis when you can see how much of your flesh the bug has eaten) and its quite hard just to 'trust him' as he asks, when I can't even answer the obvious question people ask which is 'how are things? did the transplant work?' Yet again, some of the many frustrations of bloody Myeloma, you might as well call it the 'wait and see' disease because that's seemingly all you can do, incredibly hard to deal with when I'd like to plan things or at leats know what might be comingbefore it slaps me right round the chops like a wet monster haddock with barbs on. Little blood-based motherfucker.

Ah well, back to looking at Jordan trips. No, not some woman with big boobs tumbling down some steps (much to all the boys' disappointemtn) but hopefully our hol in May. We'll see! Sx