I’ve made a discovery. I can eat little chopped-up cubes of gammon.
We had gammon for Sunday dinner, and it didn’t go well. I ate two small helpings. Even added together they were just pathetic. But afterwards I tried cutting up the rest of the gammon into small cubes, about the size of toffees. and it worked. I’ve now got a bowl full of them, and I’m eating them just like a kid eating toffee. Not all at once, I can’t take that, but every few minutes, and it’s got more meat down me than I’ve had in days.I had a phone call from a doctor-friend in Scotland, with more information. Apparently there’s a nerve in the top of the stomach which stops you eating too much. If the stomach gets too full, then it presses on this nerve, and it tells your brain that the stomach is full and inhibits swallowing. Guess where the cancer is pressing. That’s why I can’t eat. Now that information is useful.
I got ruminating yesterday at church. Easter Sunday, so the subject was the resurrection, first for Jesus, then for us.
The more I thought about the idea of resurrection, the more I like it. Better than daft ideas about wandering around in clouds wearing nighties (no, not the clouds wearing nighties). It can’t be a sort of holy version of zombies rising from graves either. It’s got to be something more complicated that I suspect we’ll only understand when we see it.
But if it means I don’t have a twisted spine, and if it means I can recognise people, because I won’t have prosopagnosia, and my right leg doesn’t look like a still from a 1950’s horrow film (House of Wax anyone?) , and if it means I don’t have cancer, then frankly it sounds like a right good idea.
At this point I realised I’d missed the sermon. Oops!