The arm on the side I had the operation on is still giving me significant pain. This is in no small part due to sleeping on it on Friday night. I woke up on Saturday morning in tears as it was on fire. I dosed up on my full contingent of painkillers, and stayed in bed for the majority of the day.

It was our very good friends, Adam and Heather’s, wedding party at the pub round the cornering in the evening. We’d waited so long to go to it, that I was determined to show my face, even for a short time. I’m glad I did. Everyone was very complimentary about my new short hair, and I got lots of Gin Club Dad hugs when I tried to slope of early. (I’m usually one of the last ones standing, so it was very odd to be the first of our group to leave!) Ross walked me home and but went back to join the matrimonial celebrations.

Sunday morning arrives, and it’s clear Ross had enjoyed himself. (Read raging hangover). So, I rally the troops, bite the bullet and drive the bairns to their swimming lessons leaving Ross in bed. I haven’t driven since the operation and needed to do a short drive to check whether a 30 minute drive to work was feasible. It’s not. I’ll be working from home tomorrow and Tuesday at least.

Felix enjoys his swimming lessons very much and always works hard. There were only three in his class today, and obviously I’m biased but he was so much better than the other two. The teacher was in agreement as when the lesson finished he was given a slip of paper to move up to the next class. He’d only been in stage 3 lessons for 6 weeks. So proud.

The two minutes silence were observed at the swimming pool at the end of their lessons and when Imogen finished her lesson, she produced a slip. She’s moved up to Stage 6. I’m so proud of her too. She’s worked very hard to get her breast stroke right so she can move up.

I’m the proud owner of a Shark and a Mermaid.

I come back home to find Ross has got up and is resembling a human being. A quick chat, and I return to bed. I nap most of the afternoon. I’m wondering if the sleeping that I’m doing is a coping mechanism, a reaction to the anaesthetic, a symptom of the cancer or something else. I just know I need a lot of it at the minute.

So, it’s back to work tomorrow, albeit at home, and an appointment with the consultant on Tuesday afternoon. This is the appointment when I find out just how and when they are going to take me apart before they put me back together again. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. My life is dependent of them getting this right.