At A Time
Monday. Awake at close to seven after lights out at ten and so a pretty good night's sleep. Raining fairly hard, but up to start drinking the last half gallon of the diuretic stuff at eight. It seems to work, letting you know with time enough to get to the bathroom, so good. For small favors.
Later. Foggy all morning. Took the bus to the Rotunda building where the procedure was scheduled, sat with an assistant who filled out what must have been twenty miles of computer forms asking me this and that: when did I last eat, did you take your meds today, is the moon made of green cheese? Anyway, onto the gurney, the I.V. line in place, into the examination room and out cold for the duration, awakening in the place from which they'd wheeled me out. A ride home, food, now here with the computer beast.
Looks as if they didn't find anything of concern. I was told to take the blood thinner pill when I got home, they'll reschedule me for another in another five years if they find precancerous stuff in the three nodes they removed, otherwise this is the last one I'll ever require. At least I think I remember the doctor saying that. As I've mentioned, a tired and foggy day. Let's hope tomorrow is brighter, rain or not.
Oh, the pasta with red clam sauce for dinner. Not really hungry, but the body was saying it didn't at all mind the thought of food. One fifty-one this morning on the scale. Let's see what it says on Christmas Day after these last few atypical days are gone and forgotten. (Forgetting most things is much easier these days.)
Evening. Nothing on television and so to bed early to take a look at the tablet, although my earlier searches this afternoon resulted in my giving up. Not unusual. I do find things that interest me now and again after trying something I was sure I wouldn't like and then find it of interest. The Wolf Hall series, for example. It's a little tense for binge viewing, but pretty good taken one chapter at a time.