After a week of behaving myself, I had the blessing of all around me to venture into town. It was about a mile and a half, and fairly flat. I've talked about taking things for granted, and a twenty-minute walk is one of those things. I felt on top of the world, and having spent an odd week being fairly inactive in the past, I anticipated a bit of weariness, and maybe a hint of fitness dropping off.
I set off from the flat, and took my normal route past the local shops, and opted to follow the main road into town on the off chance that I needed some assistance. Within ten minutes, I was exhausted. A combination of seven-and-a-half hours of anaesthetic still filtering from my system, and the vibration of the ultrasonic tools still plaguing my brain, had brought my body to a whole new low. My choice of route was good, as I found a bench to sit on and listen to music for a few minutes while I recovered. I weighed up my options, and opted to continue into town. I made it to my favourite café, ordered my drink, and sat down. I was immersed in music and coffee, and had achieved a goal (as mundane as it may sound) I had dreamed about for over a week. So simple a task, but with such immense joy derived from it. After a while, I conjured the energy to make the two-stage walk home. I was happy.
Over the coming weeks, I built my stamina - the two-stage walk became one-stage, and one trip to town a day became two. It was a simple existence, but I felt it provided me with everything I needed. I was engaging in light conversation, helping my confidence to grow in terms of my speech, my body was getting stronger, and my steroid dose was getting smaller and smaller.
On one day during this period, I felt a noticeable step-up in both my cognitive ability, and My physical recovery. This was strangely significant improvement, strange by the instantaneous nature of it. It was like being half asleep, and then being shaken...waking up instantly - the difference was startling. I don't know to this day whether it was the reduction in dose of steroids that caused this, the effects of the anaesthetic wearing off, or just my body stepping out of a kind of safety mode. The latter seemed to make more sense in light of the timing.
Time began to fly, and before I knew it, the day of the follow-up appointment was looming. I was apprehensive, as I was about to hear some home truths about the success of the operation, but I was confident that they would not seek to hold me back given the rate of my physical and mental recovery. I couldn't shake the thought that the Doctors might be telling me about cells they'd missed, the possibility of re-growth...worse even. I used this to prepare myself for the worst case scenario. It's fair to say I slept badly the night before the appointment. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what they had to tell me.
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