If I had to describe my worst nightmare it would involve me being bedridden and dependent on someone else. I really hate being incapacitated. Just for three days is horrid. Then again, it could be worse after all. In actuality, my worst nightmare would be to suffer my worst nightmare but without dogs to bring me comfort and joy. And a wife to bring me coffee and ice cream.
All three of my girls have been looking after me. That definitely brings me joy.
And so, another day lying prostrate on the lounge with my bulbous left foot occasionally taking dips in the foot bath. I think it is helping with reducing the inflammation. At least, for a little while anyway, my foot is cold to the touch.
It’s a pity I didn’t get the robot feet I wanted for Christmas. If I did, I could just unscrew them when something went wrong. I’d still not be able to walk, but I wouldn’t have any of the pain.
And Mirinda had a reasonably good day. She Skyped Bob in the morning then, later in the day, with Sophie. Then, in the middle, she took the girls on a long ramble through the woods. Almost her perfect Sunday. Of course, there was no Notholmen Café.
I didn’t do anything but lie down, moan, groan and generally be an awful patient.
I’m a sick up and fed, old Tomte.
