I’m still painting lots of flowers in my nice pots.
We made the journey to Papworth on Friday and I’m now back on the transplant list. Always seems like a long journey getting out of Norfolk for some reason. Maybe Jade Goody was right that East Anglia is another country.
I don’t know why I find it so stressful at Papworth; they don’t do anything awful, just X-ray, bloods ( I always seem to attract the useless ones; I could tell as soon as she started tapping away at various parts of my arm where I happen to know there are no veins. She got the proper phlebotomist to do it but even she had three stabs) weight , and a general interrogation on how you are with a view to assessing your fitness for transplant.
I guess half the stress is worrying that they say no and being condemned to a gradual (or rapid) decline in lung function until you keel over (not before undergoing some terrifying ventilation procedures I imagine). Their main concern is that you’re too frail to cope with not only the surgery but the recovery. You have to be able to mobilise soon after the op. Which is why i’m fairly vigilant about doing my exercises however awful it is to do them. I think in today’s heat I won’t though.
A day in front of the dyson cool with some paints should see me through.
I was feeling a bit hard done by when Lucy sent me a photo of her and Flora on horses at the beach in Ile de Re:
It is a bit relentless having to stay in one place pretty much. I think this is the first August we’ve been in this country for years. Normally we’d be off camping with them. I'd love to be there by the sea reading a book in-between eating oysters with a cold white wine.
As it’s a bank holiday my blog is going to be a bit like the BH newspapers; thin.
The garden's gone all floppy apart from a few fabulous dahlias that I'm too hot to go and photograph. The japanese anemones are looking nice under the birch trees:
I have a few more paintings that i'm pleased with; I put them on Instagram: