I saw my real doctor today

"How long will post-viral fatigue last?"

"Piece of string," she said sympathetically.

She ordered a battery of blood tests. Glandular fever - in fact, a full virus scan or screen - and thyroid and iron levels and lots of things. She renewed my antidepressants prescription, which I was too ill to renew, which made things worse because they're not a thing one is supposed to come off cold turkey. She also got us to make another appointment for next week to review progress.

She thinks basically I am just incredibly run down. Hard work, depression, medical stress, recovering from serious abdominal surgery, et cetera. There's not a lot we can do about it. But she's checking, anyway.

So I will get with the vitamin pills, antidepressants, and evening primrose oil, I guess. I already eat well. Not much else I can think of to do, off-hand.

With luck, next week I'll be able to cross a room without holding on to the wall and the furniture.

Tonight I plan to have a bath and then go to sleep. Being taken to the doctor in the trike was incredibly tiring, though the waiting room was empty enough that I was able to lie down on the seats. Mind you, I appear to be getting insomnia a leetle bit, presumably because I am bored out of my tiny, non-functional mind.

"Is that an occupation?"

When I was in hospital on Friday night - that's Friday 5th January - I had to check in, giving details like name, date of birth, address, nationality, ethnic origin, et cetera. One of the questions was "Occupation." I said "Mother."

The nurse filling in the form asked me, in the middle of the night when I was sick and dizzy, "Is that an occupation?"

Thankfully Rob answered for me; "It's a full-time job."