Twelve years is quite a time. I was thinking of when I was twelve years old, one year into secondary school, six years away from university. Thinking about twelve years ago, a year before the Olympics and Paralympics in London, a year after David Cameron became Prime Minister, five years before the referendum on the EU that has blighted us ever since. And more happily, yesterday marked twelve years since MasterB came home as my cat.
We didn’t have an evening at home together though. I went out to celebrate another anniversary. It’s twenty -five years since a group of us obtained the qualifications which bring me my income today. Itv was hard work, and we bonded. On the whole, we don’t meet each other very often in the course of our work, and if we do, there’s seldom the opportunity to exchange more than a couple of sentences. Sit us down in a restaurant off Oxford Street with good food, wine circulating freely, and there’s no lag in the conversation.
My vaccine reaction has, thank goodness, passed, just a slight headache when I first woke. My leg, though still sore, feels a bit better this evening, as though my body is putting the trauma behind it and concentrating on mending. Maybe that was what was going on this morning when it felt as though there was some sort of electrical show inspired by stinging nettles going on around the wound. Good or bad I didn’t know but it was somewhat alarming.
After some hesitation I called the number the oncology nurse had given me and left a message with the very helpful person who answered. An astonishingly short amount of time later I received a call back. The NHS is extraordinary. It’s continually run down by a government who would like to privatise it. NHS staff are overworked and underpaid, and yet the vast majority continues to work with dedication and professionalism. The nurse was approachable, a good listener and told me to call any time if worried or had questions. I felt not only reassured but somehow better.
The weather is helping me to accept my restricted mobility which is good as I have looming deadline and I am going to have get my skates on. I want it all ready with at least thirty six hours spare so I can review and edit. It’s a useful distraction from the leg, and the somewhat unsettling word cancer that floats across my mind periodically. I don’t think much further than the surgeon telling me I was lucky the melanoma had been found in the early stages. I started to read the info they gave me on the different stages of skin cancer, but at the moment, until I know I am clear, it is something I think can wait.
You may have been wondering how MasterB’s injured leg is doing.
I am happy to tell you that he is all healed up. He discarded a scab on my bed today. I could have wished it had been outside.
His fur is slowly growing back, and soon he wil be as good as new.
It still looks as though he is wearing an Ugg boot, or that he has rolled up his sleeves, but I don’t think the hair growth will take very long.