Woke after sleeping pill induced sleep and rest.
Prepared to start rehab on a better footing now.
Thought about time and how we process and order memories.
Making new memories and letting old ones go.
Repeated behaviour around a memory- mislaid was currently being displayed by a guy in the ward. He forgets he is rerunning time over and over as if stuck in a loop. It’s like hearing an ‘Escape committee ‘ forming in another room. He needs to get out and get things done before his new memories distract him. It’s a drama that gets played out everyday before being forgotten about in the joy of that day’s zoom call with his family. The comfort of repeating tasks for him keeps him going.
My case gets full analysis on Wednesday before then I get 2 days physiotherapy time. Chair based exercises are helping to move me and the idea is to see how much mobility I have and what I can build back up.
I feel the pain in the scalp back again. The staples in my hair are like the spines of an office ring binder to be unzipped when no longer required. They come out on Thursday but today I got a shampoo which was delightful.
Guy with the bed alarm doesn’t care who he wakes. I slept regardless of his indifference. My sleeping draft did it’s job.
As Nina Simone sang -It’s a new Dawn it’s a new Day and I’m feeling good
Physio began and was helpful.
My memory jogger today is appropriate to current reality but about a different location. It came into my mind associated with previous blog.
I used to do work placement support with young people in a third sector based employment scheme. It had some mainstream placements in two neighbouring mental hospitals in Shotts,Lanarkshire.
I always recall a young trainee let’s call him David. He was a great trainee and a big fan of the band Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. The style was ankle length leather coats. His was a deep red tan one with a high collar. He would have fitted in on the set of an 80’s sci fi film. A joyful wee soul he would bounce Tigger like into training sessions looking cool. The coat had more in re-leather per square metre than my Mother’s living room did at the time. This one morning he came and announced he had been permitted to observe a patient having ECT therapy. The same as shown in the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The blood drained from my face And I recalled seeing a P45 appear over me briefly as I contemplated getting the sack.
Previous articles in this series:
- My Cancer Story (to be continued) 3
- My Cancer Story (to be continued) 2
- My Cancer Story (to be continued)