On Monday, Steve is gonna return the old lady geriatric loo and shower seat. Fucking yippee!!
There is something just so bloody depressing having that shitful - excuse the pun, thing in the house, being shifted from one loo to another, and god knows having a shower while sitting on a fucking plastic chair with your bum falling into the hole does not bring any joy.
Yesterday I stood up for a shower for the first time in more than 2 weeks. Sure you can keep yourself relatively clean with a flannel and a bit of soap, but that hardly takes the place of letting the steamy water sprinkle all of you. AHH!
And I know that serious improvement is still some months away, but getting rid of the paraphernalia is an excellent start.
I am down to no plasters and no stitches and 1 crutch and can make it to the loo in good time without any puddles, and the number of grimacey groans is down to a bearable minimum, although Steve might argue that that's not quite true.
And tomorrow I am moving back upstairs. Yippee!!! Things are getting back to normal. Dr Angus was pleased with my progress and I reckon I do so like a glowing report card.
I reckon that if I can get into the pool tomorrow, or more importantly get myself out of the pool, then dancing by Christmas is a real possibility. Fingers crossed anyway.
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