This morning I took my grand-daughter, the Blond Bombshell, to the archeological dig, the one she missed on Wednesday.
Thanks to all the people who sent me insults. I feel much better now, and I will keep taking the dried frog pills. (That’s a Discworld joke, for the uninitiated.)
The MRI want me to do lots of physio and other exercise, but my right ankle is not really up to it. So I begged the GP to organise another steroid injection to my right ankle at a different hospital, so I could do the extra physio. And it all went wrong!
I saw the surgeon 3 hours ago.
First news is that the scan does not distinguish between active cancer and dead scar tissue. So all she can say is that it has not grown. They find out more when they go in with a knife.
Warwick castle was good. They have a full size trebuchet which they keep on a small island and fire twice a day for the tourists. It was impressive
I was going to do one, but I had an emergency request to do a bit of website work asap.
Another small step. I’ve got to exercise before my op, or the death rate goes up. But my bad ankle hurts really badly if I exercise.
I’ve got a date for the operation. 29 Jul. It’s a week earlier than I expected, and it’s got to be confirmed.
I didn’t write a blog yesterday because we were with my son the Engineer for his birthday. After that (a) I was tired (b) nothing exciting had happened. Well I was wrong.
I was always the awkward one. I remember at school in English we did sonnets on afternoon. For most of us it was information we saw no need for.