Just one more disruption to our household to come (for now). The carpet man is due tomorrow. He comes with a new stair carpet to replace the grotty old one that was such a mess to remove and that I have always struggled to get clean. I have a thing about carpets and to be honest if it wasn’t for the huge gaps in the risers that let in all sorts of cold air and the fact that most of the steps are cobbled together MDF, I’d be quite happy to leave them as they are, denuded. Besides I have grown used the sound of his slippers on the bare boards. It will be weird to hear them muffled. But as they say you have to be careful what you ask for, don’t you? And I accept that he will be here tomorrow (we hope) bashing and crashing about until the brand new soft grey thing is installed. And I have cleaned and cleaned only to have to do it again. So be it, eh?
I didn’t tell you of the MRI scan I had last week, did I? It was sandwiched between so much chaos that I almost forgot. I was booked in for what is for me an ungodly hour, 6.30 pm. I hate to go out in the dark (and since I have ceased to walk in the early hours for the meantime the dark is even more of a big deal). But as the doctor had gone to so much trouble (at my instigation) to push it through I had to acquiesce if only to get it over with. The hospital was ghostly. No one was about except for a few cleaners who poked their heads out of various consulting rooms at our arrival. One very warm one took us to the new MRI room. It’s a brand spanking new one, she said, meaning the scanner not the room, I think. A green button was pressed and another nice woman let us in and told us to sit and wait. Then M. arrived all jokey and smiling and loud. He had to stay behind and I was whisked off to an ante room where M. fired off a series of questions without taking breath. No, no, no, I answered to them all. My coat was removed, my mask changed (I want you to wear this one) and then I was led into the scanning chamber. Boots off, please, said M. I wanted to ask why I seemed about to go into it whole when they were only meant to be looking at my pelvis but his brusque joviality seemed to brush off all my attempts at questioning though I did ask for a blanket. Anything else? he asked as he tucked me in. A teddy bear and a hot water bottle would be nice, I said. And he did laugh, though I suspect he was used to being in charge of the jokes. I think you are beginning to understand me, he said. I noticed that his wedding ring was bronze and his fingernails showed no white. This will take about an hour, he said as I lay down and the machine swallowed me in. There was nothing I could do but accept it. The panic did come as I knew it would. Can I breathe, will I scream, will I ever get out, is it too close to my face, will they forget me? where the questions that initially besieged me but I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing. I think I even slept in between the clanging and the knocking and the juddering and the banging that that unearthly machine made. The next thing I remember I was been wheeled out and helped off the rack by another medic. It usually takes 2 weeks before we let you know the results, he said but in your case it will be 2-3 days. Why? I wanted to ask but didn’t. Was the doctor’s letter so persuasive?
I don’t know what to do, I never have. I just try to do what feels right. I asked her and initially she was hesitant but then warmed up to the idea. Have I done the right thing? A regular income would be nice but can I do it, do I have the physical strength and how will still be able to do all the other stuff that he and I expect me to do? And then there is this resubmission. The project changes as he and I talk about it. I like the changes but will the galleries and indeed the ACW? I talk to the man in the sports jacket tomorrow. So we shall see. Shan’t we?
She’s drawing you, said his wife inclining her head at me. He turned to look at me and then turned away. Let her, he said.
