Convalescence has to happen in a confined space. Life is stripped back to essentials. But what remains is curiously amplified.
Tastes are more intense, even though my diet is restricted. Noises are louder. The sun is unbearably bright as it breaks through the clouds.
The machine is being recalibrated.
Hey, I’m still here, I think to myself with gratitude each morning.
The absence of pain is welcome, but the price paid is a feeling of having a head full of jelly instead of a thinking brain. Time is marked by mealtimes and sleeping and not sleeping, and passes very slowly. Small achievements are ridiculously satisfying, perhaps due to the effort required; dealing with e mails, working out the chords of a Horace Silver song on the piano, changing a meeting date…
Lucy came to see me today and time speeded up to more like its usual pace. She took Mol and Porridge out for a run, which was a kindness (Porridge is getting fat from lolling in front of television, helping me doze through endless Hercule Poirot repeats).
Patience, patience and all will be well.