…and then there's a prescribed drugg, a morphine derivate, called Tramadol Hydrocloride. Thanks to it I exist. Yes, I know it may sound a bit over the top,but get into my shoes (or hips, or teeth, I should say) and you'll fully understand.
The nurses said I should be condecorated patient of the century, just because I don't go lay in bed crying my head of and excusing myself not to have to mother my child. Oh well, they are nursing in the UK, I tell them, people are used to benefits, the gov paying their rents, I didnt grow up like that, so I keep on going.
Sarita's easter hols were supposed to start today (breaking yesterday at 2pm) but she was of school monday, tue & wed, as I wasn't well the weekend, then she got it..but she had, on tuesday a Portuguese class, yesterday a singing class @ VoxBox and today Sylvia Young…and she wanted to attend. My blood in her veins, my child has :), so I made an extra human effort and did it.
I had to start another course of antibiotics to *unswell* the left side of my face, and I'm taking more Tramadol (damm it all, as my dear Phyllis would say), so things aren't that bad.
So now we are officially on holidays.
Somewhere (probably spread in lil bits of papers, post-its & half ripped envelopes) in the flat there's a list of things to do, I will ( no seriously) I will try to get it sorted.