To the doctor early this morning so that he could prod, poke, pinch, and “goodness gracious” my left leg. I appreciated the “goodness gracious.”
Anyway, he thinks it’s a heavy infection in the cellulite that’s all stretched out over a massive swelling caused by rampant fluid retention. He’s given me a 14-day course of a broad spectrum antibiotic–Cefalexin–to beat the infection and is muttering about going on to support stockings when that’s done. I welcome the antibiotic and am about eight hours into the course, including a good, relaxing nap without problems (that makes a nice change). I just now popped the second (500mg) pill and am hopeful that this will fix not only the bugs in the cellulite but also a long-term drippy sinus problem too trivial to report to the doctor.
I’m not too sure about the support stockings. Obviously it’s good to drive the fluid back from the tissues into the blood stream but I’ve carefully avoided socks of any length as much as I can to avoid over-heating. I’ll need to think very carefully about that.
Oh, and just as an aside, the doctor was very reassuring about my blood pressure monitor results and says there’s nothing to worry about there. I do sometimes have a short and minor drop in pressure but the best treatment for that is to sit down and think beautiful thoughts for two or three minutes until it goes away. That’s language I can understand.
I like this doctor.
Graham’s on the downward slope of decorating the living room now, painting the walls which he has lined with a good, plain paper. This project is doing wonders for his credibility with the neighbours, who whisper respectfully about him ‘doing his own plastering’. “Stuff and nonsense,” says Graham. “Who doesn’t?” Well, most people, is the answer. He’s now gone all protective about it, saying that photography can wait until the job’s done.
“Does that include the Christmas tree?” I asked, all innocent-like.
“We’ll see,” he said, not getting the joke at all.
Day by day delivery men arrive bearing small cardboard parcels addressed to me, which I whisk away to hide in my special place. Each time the glint in Graham’s eye sparkles a little more and my fears that we may have to cancel all but the basics of Christmas this year recede.
Which is nice.