I’M on a horrible rollercoaster at the moment – and I’ve never found rollercoasters exciting. It seems to be one step forward and four back. An act of kindness and warmth in eyes above the mask can urge me forward and like a puppy I wag my imaginary tail for approval.

A cold eye, a harsh pull on my arm, a sigh at my fear-filled slowness, casts me down and shakes my confidence. I understand, I do, they are not here to serve me, only me.

There are rooms of other broken people to be attended to. One has the measure of me and knows when to soothe and when to put a gentle boot in.

Another looks at me with barely concealed contempt which is too hard to deal with when at one’s lowest ebb and a shade of the woman I was.

Nurses, please, please always remember that the person you’re seeing is – temporally – broken on many levels.

And, in these times of quarantine, have no friends to visit to talk in an old familiar language of childhood cadences overlapped with memories stirred by their use.

We have only the harsh sounds of a language that is not ours and I defy anyone not brought up in it to ever be fully at home when also dealing with physical distress.

The masks make it far harder too for it is astonishing how much we rely on lip reading and facial expressions to interpret meaning.

And then there are the many other problems that come with a daily 30 to 31-degree heat – fungal infections, a return of the psoriasis that has made sitting, lying, peeing a burning pain fest. There is no air conditioning because of the virus in case it can use it as an entry point.

I’ve had no treatment for the red-raw spotted backside for days because they need to make sure it is the one not the other – even the calming lotions are out of the question. I tell them I know what it is from the occasional flare up at times of great stress, although never there.

They remain implacable even though there is undoubted pity in their eyes; until the doctor gives the go ahead, they can do nothing and the doctor has said no.

So, they literally peel me from my bed while I mute my screams and their pity is no use to me.

This morning the doctor returned from yet another fair – Pentecost – and confirmed it was psoriasis. Hallelujah.

I now have dressings on, a mixture to swallow and a powerful pain killer while they start to have an effect.

Had enough yet? Oh, good – now the daily diarrhoea which has lasted 10 days and passed every test to uncover the cause. Thank God, today it’s almost over for otherwise I was marked down for a colonoscopy.

At this I finally and utterly refused, tossing my mane and unseating the health service.

"No more," I said firmly. "My poor body can’t take any more invasions. Absolutely not. I know I can refuse and I most definitely am in sound mind."

The doctor seemed surprised as she’s used to the health-obsessed French who are delighted when a new procedure is mooted. It is why once trapped in a French hospital they take delight in probing and investigating every twinge, every flash of pain.

I know many of you can only dream of such attention but I just want my shoulder to work and to walk out of here before I just give up and turn my face to the wall.

Ah, walk. There’s the question.

I can shuffle, keeping the trembles at bay on good days, with painfully slow baby steps. On bad days, I cover half the small distance and like a marionette at the hands of a learner, I jerk and judder. Always there is a physio or nurse within arm’s range.

I know my legs are sound if not strong and there is nothing sinister causing my feet to stick and me to topple backwards. It is sheer and understandable terror they assure me after all the falls in 12 months.

There is no quick fix but I must get out before I’m swallowed whole into the system.

Tomorrow I am to be x-rayed again and then off to see the surgeon in Moissac to find out if the bindings strapping my arm and shoulder to my body can come off. My physio tells me it will be fairly useless for months and require extensive physio.

Already I’m panicking about how I’ll get to the other hospital in the ambulance and if he’ll want to see me walk. There will be little sleep tonight I fear and I so badly need it.

Somehow, I need to gather the skirts of my now timorous remnants of courage and get through this too. I must or I shall wither away in a corner somewhere.

Upwards and onwards….said weakly today but still said at least.

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