Sunday, September 26, 2004

Static - redux

The nurse popped a little slide with a droplet of my blood into the machine and pressed a button. The machine, in turn, whirred a little and beeped most cheerfully. When she looked at the readout, she visibly blanched.

Apparently, iron in the blood is supposed to be between ‘x’ and ‘y’. Mine was ‘x’ minus ‘a lot’. She wasn’t happy and I got a stern lecture about taking care of myself. Then she did something else painful and (typically) undignified leaving me wondering why it was that I had just paid so much money for the pleasure of her company. (Of course, I had paid privately because – short of losing my tongue and being accidentally rushed to a public hospital in Britain before I can give other instructions – I had chosen a private clinic where washing hands is still a common practice.)

It was a routine test to be taken before a little surgery I had on Thursday. Since then, I’ve been recovering from the (always hideous) effects of anesthetics on me with the help of tonnes of vitamin/mineral pills, a quarter of a cow and veritable fields of spinach and kale. I feel better than I have in two months. I even feel like posting again.

You see, I had recently been feeling more than a little tired. I had no idea what it was and had it down to ageing – although why I should age about 10 years in the space of 5 weeks was beyond me. I went from being able to run a few miles with only a little temporary whining at the end to not being able to walk up stairs without puffing like I had never done exercise before.

Baffled, I did what I usually do to a problem – I met the darned thing head on and decided that perhaps I was becoming unfit. So I would work harder. The harder I worked, though, the worse I felt. I put it down to laziness and…yeah…worked harder.

As you may have guessed, my particular personality type is useful for things like leading garrisons of troops into war or coordinating a change throughout a company. Unleashed onto things like personal care or small children, it can become a hindrance.

Matthew enjoys giving practical advice then chuckling from the sidelines when I vehemently ignore it just because the idea wasn’t mine. Eventually, I have to swallow my pride, ask him for some assistance in scooping my battered body off the floor, limp over to somewhere where I can lick my wounds and promise to take his advice. He looks down at me with crinkles in the corners of his eyes in a most infuriating ‘You’re so darned cute when you’re angry!’ look. Sometimes, he even says it. No punishment could be worse.

So I’m happy that I figured it out all by my (almost) self.

Now, instead of barely having enough energy to crawl through a day and contemplating writing a post with about as much pleasure as I would pulling out my own toenails, I have other problems at hand.

I have too much energy and I’ve been ordered to ‘take it easy’ by the doctor. Matthew knows this and is enforcing it with raised eyebrows, lectures and stern warnings.

The only place I can unleash energy, therefore, is work and here. Actual posts of value here we come:)

M

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