My mother has come and gone, leaving a gaping hole at home.
I'm spending a few days in hospital, in Rotterdam, for tests to check my adrenals and to see if my fever peaks high enough.
As I write, I'm sporting 38,3 degrees, but alas: it has to be 38,5 before they'll draw blood.
The lady in my room has dermatomyositis, a man next door passed away.
I've weasled my way into getting released tomorrow night - quickquick, thankyouverymuch.
I'm in pain - the usual suspects in my arms and legs, plus some serious neuropathy in my right arm for good measure.
The husband was forced to take days off.
The boys go fishing close to our house.
Next week I have to see my boss.
I'm unable to continue with the stress he delivers, chopping 20% off of my salary and so forth.
In my own way, I also attempt to move forward.
I'm still alive, not wearing nappies like my hospital roommate.
So far so gooooood.