Think Xyrillian without the scales
I’ve taken this week off work as vacation time, hoping to catch up on rest, and get some home improvements done. I’m having limited success on both fronts.
I’ve reluctantly scaled back my ambitions on the DIY front, so now instead of decorating 3 basement rooms, I’ve acknowledged that it will be just the one room. I’ve taken down some shoddy shelves; removed uPVC window boards; cut and glossed the replacement window boards; patched and painted the walls and ceiling (two coats); caulked, sanded and glossed the skirting board; wired in a new light fitting. Finally I’ve purchased some Ikea Ivar shelving units, which I’ve sanded down and started to wax. I suppose that isn’t so bad an achievement in a week.
The lymphedema clinician wasn’t very happy at the state of my hand when I saw her today, and the new compression glove she’d got for me wouldn’t fit over my fingers. By the time she’d completed the MLD, we were both happier about my hand, and as I was able to get the glove on, I decided to give it a go. She suggested I start wearing it for short periods, two hours, as it would take some getting used to and I might get pins and needles. Well, by the time I’d done a little trip round Homebase and driven to my dad’s my fingertips were blue, and painfully numb. So the moment I got out of the car I took the glove off. I’ve just given it another go now, but managed only half an hour before my fingertips were so jangling and numb that the glove had to come off again.
I touch type, well that is to say that I look at the screen while using both thumbs, three fingers on my left hand and two fingers on my right hand to type (yeah, an odd combo – faster than a two fingered hunt and peck, but not as adept as a true typist’s ten digit approach). What I’ve just realised is that I use touch feedback from my fingertips to move them to the right spot for the next key stroke. When the fingers on my right hand were jangling from the glove my typing went to pot. I was having to hit delete every other key stroke (and frequently missing delete too) – pretty frustrating when each contact with the keys was painfully unpleasant. I guess I’m going to have to keep at it with the glove in short bursts. As it wears in it will stretch a little, and if it is doing its job then my hand will shrink a little. Hopefully that will be sufficient for the glove to become comfortable.
I went to the hairdressers today for a cut and blow dry. It is so nice having a mop of hair. I went completely bald with the chemo last year. From quite a young age I’d wanted to see what I would look like bald. I’d seen “Star Trek: The Motion Picture” in a rare cinema trip when I was 7 years old, which featured Ilia, a very pretty female bald navigator. When I was 18 Sinéad O’Connor shot to fame with “Nothing Compares 2 U”, again a very pretty bald woman. However I discovered when I lost my hair that it wasn’t a good look for me, not least because of the prominent ridges running front to back either side of my forehead. Think Xyrillian without the scales.
While I was at the hairdressers a little old lady arrived for a wash and set. Notice how the words “little old lady” seem to naturally go together – how many tall old ladies do you know – over 5’6”? That’s the menopause for you. After the oestrogen leaves us, bone loss follows and we shrink. Certainly that’s something to think about with this old free-martin thing, it isn’t as though I’m tall to start with.
This little old lady was very very little and very old. I’m 5’2”, so when I say little I mean 4’6”, quite possibly less. The lad who washed her hair created a stack of 6 folded towels on the chair for her to sit on top of, just so her head would reach the wash bowl. She moved ever so slowly with the aid of a walking stick, taking tiny steps. As she inched across the room, looking like an octogenarian doll there was something so puppet like about her movements, the invisible strings of her will power keeping her moving.
On my drive home, naturally keeping an eye out for potential hazards, I spotted a very young toddler ambling along the path by the road totally alone. I’m not sure how old the baby was as I don’t have kids of my own, but he was just at that very early walking stage – wobbly and slow. This wasn’t a domestic side road - it was a busy main road. I parked on the next side street, and ran back to the child.
By this time a car had stopped on the other side of the road, and a runner had turned back. I waved the male runner off, and asked the lady from the car to stay with me. Silly isn’t it? My three main concerns were to hold the child to prevent him stumbling into traffic, return him home, and ensure there was another female adult present so that no impropriety could be construed. The poor lady driver who’d stopped also had to worry about her own two children in the back of her car. As I started looking around to work out where the baby had come from the lady used her keyfob to lock the car and called across the road to instruct her eldest to wind the window down for ventilation and not to open the door for anyone. What kind of a world do we live in?
Feeling quite the amateur sleuth, given the child had been walking up the hill barefoot in an all-in-one, I deduced that he’d escaped from one of the houses down the hill, so we set off in that direction. Spotting a house with a side gate gaping open, and a child seat in the car on the drive, I felt sure we’d find mum within. Failing that I was hopeful that they would recognise the child as one of their neighbours kids. In this case it really was elementary. We went through the open gate, and found mum cutting hair in a home salon at the rear of the house. A few moments later mum, baby, lady driver and myself were back on the street looking at the distance the nipper had covered. Lady driver and I were relieved to have reunited mum and baby so swiftly, and took our leave. All’s well that ends well.
I’ve reluctantly scaled back my ambitions on the DIY front, so now instead of decorating 3 basement rooms, I’ve acknowledged that it will be just the one room. I’ve taken down some shoddy shelves; removed uPVC window boards; cut and glossed the replacement window boards; patched and painted the walls and ceiling (two coats); caulked, sanded and glossed the skirting board; wired in a new light fitting. Finally I’ve purchased some Ikea Ivar shelving units, which I’ve sanded down and started to wax. I suppose that isn’t so bad an achievement in a week.
The lymphedema clinician wasn’t very happy at the state of my hand when I saw her today, and the new compression glove she’d got for me wouldn’t fit over my fingers. By the time she’d completed the MLD, we were both happier about my hand, and as I was able to get the glove on, I decided to give it a go. She suggested I start wearing it for short periods, two hours, as it would take some getting used to and I might get pins and needles. Well, by the time I’d done a little trip round Homebase and driven to my dad’s my fingertips were blue, and painfully numb. So the moment I got out of the car I took the glove off. I’ve just given it another go now, but managed only half an hour before my fingertips were so jangling and numb that the glove had to come off again.
I touch type, well that is to say that I look at the screen while using both thumbs, three fingers on my left hand and two fingers on my right hand to type (yeah, an odd combo – faster than a two fingered hunt and peck, but not as adept as a true typist’s ten digit approach). What I’ve just realised is that I use touch feedback from my fingertips to move them to the right spot for the next key stroke. When the fingers on my right hand were jangling from the glove my typing went to pot. I was having to hit delete every other key stroke (and frequently missing delete too) – pretty frustrating when each contact with the keys was painfully unpleasant. I guess I’m going to have to keep at it with the glove in short bursts. As it wears in it will stretch a little, and if it is doing its job then my hand will shrink a little. Hopefully that will be sufficient for the glove to become comfortable.
I went to the hairdressers today for a cut and blow dry. It is so nice having a mop of hair. I went completely bald with the chemo last year. From quite a young age I’d wanted to see what I would look like bald. I’d seen “Star Trek: The Motion Picture” in a rare cinema trip when I was 7 years old, which featured Ilia, a very pretty female bald navigator. When I was 18 Sinéad O’Connor shot to fame with “Nothing Compares 2 U”, again a very pretty bald woman. However I discovered when I lost my hair that it wasn’t a good look for me, not least because of the prominent ridges running front to back either side of my forehead. Think Xyrillian without the scales.
While I was at the hairdressers a little old lady arrived for a wash and set. Notice how the words “little old lady” seem to naturally go together – how many tall old ladies do you know – over 5’6”? That’s the menopause for you. After the oestrogen leaves us, bone loss follows and we shrink. Certainly that’s something to think about with this old free-martin thing, it isn’t as though I’m tall to start with.
This little old lady was very very little and very old. I’m 5’2”, so when I say little I mean 4’6”, quite possibly less. The lad who washed her hair created a stack of 6 folded towels on the chair for her to sit on top of, just so her head would reach the wash bowl. She moved ever so slowly with the aid of a walking stick, taking tiny steps. As she inched across the room, looking like an octogenarian doll there was something so puppet like about her movements, the invisible strings of her will power keeping her moving.
On my drive home, naturally keeping an eye out for potential hazards, I spotted a very young toddler ambling along the path by the road totally alone. I’m not sure how old the baby was as I don’t have kids of my own, but he was just at that very early walking stage – wobbly and slow. This wasn’t a domestic side road - it was a busy main road. I parked on the next side street, and ran back to the child.
By this time a car had stopped on the other side of the road, and a runner had turned back. I waved the male runner off, and asked the lady from the car to stay with me. Silly isn’t it? My three main concerns were to hold the child to prevent him stumbling into traffic, return him home, and ensure there was another female adult present so that no impropriety could be construed. The poor lady driver who’d stopped also had to worry about her own two children in the back of her car. As I started looking around to work out where the baby had come from the lady used her keyfob to lock the car and called across the road to instruct her eldest to wind the window down for ventilation and not to open the door for anyone. What kind of a world do we live in?
Feeling quite the amateur sleuth, given the child had been walking up the hill barefoot in an all-in-one, I deduced that he’d escaped from one of the houses down the hill, so we set off in that direction. Spotting a house with a side gate gaping open, and a child seat in the car on the drive, I felt sure we’d find mum within. Failing that I was hopeful that they would recognise the child as one of their neighbours kids. In this case it really was elementary. We went through the open gate, and found mum cutting hair in a home salon at the rear of the house. A few moments later mum, baby, lady driver and myself were back on the street looking at the distance the nipper had covered. Lady driver and I were relieved to have reunited mum and baby so swiftly, and took our leave. All’s well that ends well.
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