DAY SIX

I got up this morning, to make my own breakfast like a massive champion. I was heroically fiddling with oats when suddenly I really had to lie down flat on the floor. Which I did, because I was at home and only Ben was there to give me his (by now excellently perfected) 'poor you' look.

There are, however, plenty of places where suddenly lying down flat on your back might not elicit such understanding, and in fact might prompt a sturdy man with metal in his boots and the A-Team in his heart to ask some pretty shouty questions. I am nervous about going to such places.

It has been six days since I first willfully ignored the warning signs that something osteopathically hideous was about to go down. I am a bit better (see: walking) but not actually better (see: lying on the floor). My lovely physio told me I had done something to a disc (hurray!), which mis-aligned my pelvis (yippee!), and trapped a nerve in my hip (wahoo!). Oh, and there is also a delightfully-named 'fibrous lump' in my back which is possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever heard. I am going to rename it 'unicorn kiss', although the unicorn would have had to have kissed me pretty aggressively for it to be this painful.

Oh, and then I woke up this morning to PERIOD PAINS which are written in capital letters as that's how they feel.

I turning into Marvin. Pain in the diodes down my left hand side! Brain the size of a planet (albeit a very small, barren one), etc.

I have been reading Simone de Beauvoir and a book of sci-fi short stories. I have watched enormous amounts of stuff online. I had a brief phase of singing all the power ballads I could think of, but had to stop when Ben came home. (I don't want to make him sick too.)

I am willing my back to get better before Sunday and a 24 hour flight. I can't bear the idea of 24 hours without being able to lie down flat, it makes me feel anxious beyond belief. I wish I was the sort of person to get upgraded, but I am far too scruffy and wouldn't know how to ask.

"Um, hello. I. Um, hi, you look nice! Nice earrings" I might start, casually. "I like, you have nice, um. I like hair! I mean, your hair looks nice. Yes, I packed my bags myself althoughitwasreallyhardbecauseI'vehurtmybackandpleaseupgrademe.
Please? Yes, ok, I will move away from the desk now. Do you have any wheelchairs?"

Maybe if I write to Jimmy Saville he might help.

It just has to be better by Sunday. I have got another physio appointment in a few hours so I hope she says it'll all be fine and proclaim me fixed, and I will dance out of there singing power ballads to the buses. I am not totally sure that will happen but I might take my dancing shoes just in case*.

*When my back gets better I am totally going to get dancing shoes.