I just walked back from the doctor’s (about a ten minute walk).  To some people that might not sound like much to remark on, but you may have gathered from earlier entries that I’ve been housebound.  Seriously.  In the “shuffling walk” days a couple of weeks ago, I could shuffle from the living room to the kitchen, but gratefully made use of the chair in the hall on the way.  That awful drug was to blame, of course, and two weeks ago my dose was halved.  Some of the side-effects lessened straight away (eg the dry mouth – suddenly I was able to go twenty minutes without having a sip of drink!); others disappeared (shuffling walk), but some hung around persistently and inability to walk further than the next room was one of them.

Perhaps it’s taken a while for my system to adjust to the new dose, but over the past two or three days, I’ve been feeling better:  getting up less in the night, feeling less nauseous, getting dressed before lunchtime, able to stand for more than ten seconds.  Maybe it’s a miracle.  Or just pregnancy changes.  Whatever it is, that’s the furthest I’ve been able to walk for three months.  Three months!

It would be just the right time, too.  Although I’ve been persuading myself to believe that I’m just an incubator for the next few months and my own health (serious issues aside) and spirits are of limited consequence, there is the persistent awareness of children and a husband that used to be part of my life… and whom, indeed, I’m hoping to see at the end of the month when they next have a school holiday.  If I continue at this level, I will be able to enjoy their company rather than just struggle through it with a painted smile for the sakes of the children.  Wouldn’t that be great!