For 241 days, upon my release from hospital, I have split my sleepy time between my broken bed in Dalston and my bed at Mamma Jones’s house. That is two beds. Just the two beds. For 241 days I have not been able to sleep in another bed that is not called Emma’s. I haven’t even been able to sleep on a sofa. Realistically, I have not been able to do those things, even if my mind was willing. There has always been something calling me back to safety.
It started off with my back. I had to sleep upright for nearly four months, and I needed that insert in my bed. I still require a certain amount of pillows. Then there is the drugs, then and still.
Practicality and sense means I have to be home every night. My Myeloma tells me so… Or does it?
It didn’t last night. After 241 days, I managed to reach another milestone. It may sound like nothing to you, but I spent the hours of midnight-08:00hrs lying down in a bed that was not called Emma’s, and this fact means a lot to me. Recently, I have been constantly complaining, dwelling really, about my new treatment and the general state of my health. My Myeloma continues to be the main man in my life, I know this all to well, but there is nothing wrong with the occasional bit of infidelity. If I can let my hair down with something else, something more fun that raises a smile, then I will. It’s that simple to me. My occasional acts of defiance make Mylomaville habitable.
Last night then, actually it is the night before last, I stayed in a hotel. Apart from the quandary about how I disposed of my used needle, it was surprisingly easy. Oh and I suppose my morning grogginess was also an issue. I had to hide it by oversleeping. That’s my excuse. My suitcase had wheels, was fully stocked with pills, there was enough pillows on my bed and I had rather helpfully been booked on the ground floor. I made myself right at home.
As with everything and anything in my life now, I did have to adapt slightly. I am not going to lie to you. Once upon a time if I happened to have found myself in a hotel midweek, in a county that looked something like Yorkshire, I would not have gone to bed at 22:00hrs and I would have regretted that decision the next day, however, last night I did take myself to bed at 22:00hrs. I had drugs to take. Who knew that cancer would make me more sensible? Plus LA Confidential was on ITV4. Who needs a hotel bar when you have Danny DeVito? Really.
And so, I stayed in a hotel and I did that in spite of My Myeloma. It raises a smile.
It has been a while since I stayed in a hotel, so I just wondered whether it was normal fair now, to find this in the bathroom?
It’s not normal is it?