26 July 2010

11 months

Around this time last year I had just been through three days of FUO (fever of unknown origin) and once it was clear that I had not picked up the H1N1 virus during my trip to London earlier in July 09 I did not waste any more thought on it. Never mind the fact that when I finished painting the grubby wall paper in the hall the next Saturday I was knackered for the entire Sunday, never mind the fact that in the following weeks all I managed to do after coming home from work was fall asleep in front of the TV, that visitors and outings tended to exhaust me and that I spent weekend afternoons fighting sleep, and that I was more than glad that others could do shopping and cooking.

What mattered to me was my daily adventure, my cycle race to work, setting off, winding my way through traffic so easily, what a delight, then the climb up on hairpin bends and the jubilant feeling of achievement 20 min later up on top, the slow spin onwards through the forest, the quick stop at the viewing point, taking my daily picture of the view, a short breathing meditation on the bench under the massive birch tree and on to my office for the next 9 hrs.

I ignored every symptom that may have stared me in the face. In fact, as long as I could manage this lovely trip every morning, surely I must be ok?

Eventually, I collapsed.

Eleven months ago.

The likelihood that I will recover sufficiently to go back to work is very very slight. So slight that as of today I have stopped considering it.

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