Premature Resurrection.

I don’t care; I’m going to do it anyway. I am going to succumb to an unmitigated presumption (and far worse, as some would have it) and suggest that there is something delightfully apposite about returning home from hospital when it’s almost Easter Sunday. Such I did today.

There is a dampener involved, however. I don’t feel entirely well and there’s a fair bit of sorting out to do with things like clothes and medications, including a needle which I have to stick into myself once a day for a month.

Me, I said, me, inject myself? Are you mad? I don’t do medical things, and that includes injections, and most especially INJECTIONS ON MYSELF!

You’ve got to, they said, start practicing NOW!

This has taken ages to type because I’m not quite with it yet (and parts of me hurt, and I feel nauseous, etc, etc) The past six days constituted one of the worst weeks of my life. So enough for now.

Thanks for all the lovely emails and comments. Will get around to answering them soon. Can’t promise when. Hope the recovery is speedy. (Unless I die, in which case I won’t bother.)