The 25th of April.
Everything hurts today. I am tender all over. My body did not like being invaded so I am being a delicate flower.
My day has been punctuated by half-hourly squeezing of a stress ball with my arm up in the air. It is the only thing I can do that might make my arm go down. I’m not convinced it is going to work but I am desperately hanging on to anything that may make a difference. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what I will do.
This afternoon, I wrote about yesterday’s procedure, then I went to sit with Sam for a couple of hours. I watched Netflix, and he kneaded my lap which I tolerated until it hurt. Pointy claws of a heavy kitty on wound sites are not good.
I just feel very sad. Maybe tomorrow will be better. We’re off to Machynlleth on Thursday for the comedy festival there and I really don’t want to feel like shit.
The 26th of April.
Measured my arm this morning. Still exactly the same. I am not expecting it to improve, but I’ll carry on with the compression and the squeezing for a few more days, then I’ll ring Andrew’s secretary and make sure my appointment is on the way because he’s going to have to come up with a new plan. I cannot go to John and Maddie’s wedding with one huge arm, even if it will be full of medics.
So this morning I was sad about my arm and had a bit of a cry before I came downstairs. Breakfast, then I wrote up the blog post about the venoplasty while I watched new Pretty Little Liars and iZombie. I did a lot of shouting at the latter because Peyton is being a moron.
After lunch, I sorted out what clothes I’m going to take to Mach and printed out all the tickets for the shows I’m going to, using up a small tree in the process. Then I went to give Sam some attention and a brush because we were taking him to Lee’s to stay with her while we’re away and I thought he ought to look nice.
I am sick to death of living in baggy clothes. A third of the year has passed and I haven’t felt good about my body for a single day.