I went to a birthday party last night, put on make-up and pretty dress and felt like a teenager again. No eligible men around though so it's a good job I didn't take the testosterone.
It was in the church hall, with two vicars present but a jolly, boozy time was had by all. I was sitting opposite young, perfectly formed Fr Steve, and another young man of the parish. The generation gap showed strangely when I tried a joke. To wit:
The Scots are like haemorrhoids. If they come down and go back up again you are OK, but if they come down and stay you have a problem.
They both stared at me uncomprehendingly. Fr. Steve blinked and said, “I think we will have to find out more about haemorrhoids before we can appreciate that one, Jane.”
Got home late and slept well. I can sleep now after over two years of insomnia. I used to struggle hopelessly for sleep then wake up at 3am. I would lie there my neck and shoulders aching, hands tingling and I couldn’t find any comfortable position. Looking back I think that I was literally scared stiff.
The sleeplessness started with the menopause, got worse with the chemotherapy and the doctor’s dire words. Time goes on. Words fade. I remain well and slowly my mind unclenches. The fight or flight response retreats to normal and I can sink into my pillows like a child.