Item – So, went to the acupuncturist this morning, and told her what had happened since last she saw me. I was all proud of myself for managing it in a tear-free sort of way, though even I thought my voice sounded peculiarly like that of John Major I was repressing any and all emotions so hard. Nice Earrings the acupuncturist leaned over and put her hand gently on my wrist. ‘Naturally, you still feel numb and shell-shocked,’ she said. Hmm. My bluff, called, I think.
Item – She punctured my upper back and shoulders, and then spent a lot of time warming my belly with her moxa stick. My poor belly, that she spent months stabbing and setting fire to in an attempt to warm it up, all cold again. *sigh*. She thinks it’s because I lost so much blood. She also commented that my skin is very dry (yes, I feel lovely and alluring now, shut up thank you), which is apparently also due to the blood-loss (and nothing to do with the rising tide of ice-cream-binge-induced eczema, which I unaccountably neglected to mention to her). More oily fish, more yams and more dried apricots, she suggested. Sounds like the tagine from hell.
Item – Work went quite well, mostly. My boss was sweetness personified, was so sorry it had happened, wanted to be sure I didn’t take on too much, told me to spend today reading my emails and ‘settling in’. Several colleagues wanted to know if I had had swine flu, including some nervous ones who were clearly wondering if I’d contaminated them all. On being reassured I wasn’t infectious, they all politely dropped the subject. Most people said ‘are you better? Good’. A couple said it was nice to have me back. And then I checked my emails and did a little light re-classifying.
Item – Swift punch to the gut number one: A book I was dealing with had a dedication to the author’s son, who had been still-born. I put the book back on the shelf and went off for a cry in the loo.
Item – Swift punch to the gut number two: My colleague J had bought a card, and took it all over the office, showing it to people and asking if it was funny or just too corny, for his friend who had just announced she was pregnant. I said cheerfully (why cheerfully? What the fuck is wrong with me?): ‘I’m not the best person to ask right now,’ and he showed it to S at the next desk instead, and he and S then went on to have an innocent and well-meant chat about this mutual pregnant friend, and whether 35 was too old to be a first time mother (35! For fuck’s sake!), and what the risks of pregnancy were, and if she’d be OK. I got up half-way through a book-list, dumped what I’d done on the trolley, and fled. I ended up crouched on the toilet cubicle floor, wedged between the lavatory bowl and the paper dispenser, thinking ‘this is not a hygenic attitude’, and just waiting for the feeling of galloping rage and panic to die down. Then it was home time, so I nipped back to my desk, grabbed my bag, and vamoosed in perfect silence. Because I know both J and S would be mortified if they had realised how much their words had wounded me. And because they had no reason to know, and no way of knowing, that their words could wound me. My boss has been very reticent. Is it better to be shot down by an enemy deliberately being an unconscionable shit-bag, or by a clueless tactless oaf who should know better, or by a friend in all innocence and ignorance?