Thursday 6th Jan
Day 260
The nurse on the phone says,
‘It’s probably pleurisy.’
Such a soft rounded pillow of a word. It doesn’t tell the story of the slicing knife that slides between my ribs every time I cough.
Tonight I’m happy to find soup in the freezer that I made from Christmas day left overs - peas and leeks and onion gravy whizzed into thick sweet comfort. As delectable as the memory of my nephew’s Christmas roast potatoes - deep crusted, rough edged golden globes, cottony tender inside - the winning Oscars on everyone’s plate.
I’m longing to re-create his technique when I get beyond this bed and the option of cooking lunch swings back into my day.
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