On the first night I was in here I wiled away the hours thinking about what would be written on my gravestone and whether it would be as good as Buffy Summers: “She saved the world. A lot.” On the second night I decided I was going to start getting better. Last night I had another panic attack because my breathing went a bit funny and my toes started tingling. (Oh God has something moved?).
This afternoon I’m starting to think about what I’ll do when I go home. I’m going to ditch my tight work trousers for skirts. I’m going to wear DVT stockings for a while. I’m going to make them clear out all of the crap under my desk. The desk is too small and there are two computers, a filing cabinet and a load of graphic design books, barely enough room for my footrest and no room for my legs. I’m going to ask them for a chair with a leg rest so I can put my legs out straight. I’m going to write a program that runs in the background on my PC that forces me to get up and walk around every half an hour.
