Onwards

In an idle moment, totted up this month's medical appointments - 21, and that's just the ones I know about.  October has scarcely begun, and I've excluded any complementary gubbins.  No wonder it's starting to feel all a bit relentless.  Still, they're being thorough with me, and as Nursey said, "You're getting value for your NI contributions".  

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Woke 5am, worritted for three hours before rising.    Bus stop home from synagogue yesterday the very same one I used to switch buses en route home from a decidedly left wing youth group, the finest Golders Green could offer.  It's a furniture show room now.  I used to stare out of the window upstairs, steadfastly ignoring the conductor's "Fares, please!", because I'd spent my pocket money on chips while waiting in the fish shop doorway for the lesser spotted 263.  The smell always drew me in.  This was all long before the heady days of Ken Livingstone at the GLC, and free travel for under 16's.

Other grim overnight ramblings:  that wretched hospital corner.  Up the stairs for breast cancer, down for pregnancy ultrasounds and straight ahead for the birthing suite.  Hackneyed, I know, but I climb up with a heavy heart each week as I choose breast cancer.  Some choice.  Have I acclimatised to infertility?  Do you ever?

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So to psychotherapy.  Can she do as good a job as last week at bringing me down off the ceiling?  Where's that taxi?  If Eid was yesterday, Hassan should be back at work, shouldn't he?