So, I woke up on Saturday morning and found I could barely move.
It’s true that, under the circumstances, this was not a surprise. Friday night had been spent consuming far too much alcohol in the form of some very good wine to accompany an exceptionally good meal with our lovely friends. However, by midday I was fairly sure that the hangover was not the only culprit. Not only had my back and left leg seized up, but I also seemed to have tonsilitis.
In this state, I travelled to London where I sat through Ian Bostridge’s melodious performance of Death In Venice feeling like the latest case for House, MD. By Sunday I was hobbling to an emergency doctor at the Chelsea and Westminster who, in a tone not unlike House, told me that the only reason that should stop me travelling back to Cambridge was actually being wheelchair bound. He did prescribe some penicillin for the tonsils, though.
On Monday I made the certifiably insane decision to go ahead and perform with GenR8, a Christian volunteer group that tours assemblies around schools. After 5 primary schools in one day, carrying scenery and props and popping Coprufen+ whenever I could, I then attended a staff meeting at one of the schools where my new storytelling venture is going to take off next month. Finally, I went home, lay on my living room floor and wondered whether I would ever move again.
Tuesday, therefore, saw a visit to the doctor who signed me off work for ten days with ‘acute back strain’ and prescribed some drugs designed to knock me out entirely. Fun! Since then Ive been lying on the floor, watching bad daytime TV, attempting to write reports (and blog entries) with the laptop sort of balancing over me, and counting the minutes until my next dose. Which I think is now.
My internet connection down here is too dodgy to run MSN, but I’m attempting to check e-mails and, when the connection lets me, to reply. Make my ceiling more interesting by sending me one?