The new painkillers are working a treat. Not even the lifting machine is hurting and that goes underneath the arms. Of course it doesn't fix the problem, that will keep growing but at least she won't know about it until the next bout of pain. She's back making Christmas cards and enjoying herself. The only change is that she no longer wants to mix with the other residents as much and she doesn't mind not going down to the shops for a coffee or lunch. She doesn't have to go anywhere for supplies, she has enough to rival Hallmark. Will we get another year? Sister says very doubtful as she's done some research on this kind of pain and it usually means the lung is affected but she doesn't want to know and we don't want to have the job of telling her.
And tomorrow is the residents Christmas Party. I was volunteered again to help out, I can't think who does that for me. I try not to open my mouth at all. And non-alcholic booze in case I fall over a walker. I bought a bottle for my own little Christmas, I like the taste of sparkling cuvee but I hate getting sloshed and feeling as though my tongue is dragging on the ground. I do not have the family tolerance for booze. A half dozen cans of VB for my sister is just gargling water. One stubby of Cascade Light at the pub and I can't sit on the stool watching the pokie wheels go round without hanging on to whoever is next to me and it's never a good looking bloke.
So Tungsten Tessie lives for another Christmas, third one at the Home, 6th one since the experts said she might get one. My mother and cockroaches, last ones standing after an A-bomb.