14 nukings to go

Two more down, 14 to go.

The team has changed, because the first team is on a three week holiday. They will be back before I’m finished. I miss the cute chubby grey-haired man who sneaks out for a smoke and the young kid with the crew cut who can’t stop smiling.

The first day the song is Bob Marley. The second day the music is too low to identify.
I see the doctor for the weekly measurement. I’ve lost a half centimetre in both arms. He is pleased and surprised that there is no “bronzage” reddening of the skin. He asks if my feather earrings are real feathers. I tell him I didn’t ask the provenance. He is extra smiley. I wonder if it is because I thank him in English, French, German and Arabic. Or maybe because he sees so many cases more serious than mine. I do still have the same sensation that I did in school. I have to pass the test.

After I leave the clinic on Monday I’m famished and energetic. I had planned an apple or yoghurt supper, but instead get off the bus near our favourite Japanese restaurant named after my long-gone dog Mikado. At 5 17:00 the place is almost empty, but there is still a good selection. I had planned to have only maki, but the tempora shrimp just hops onto my plate.

An old, old woman, stick-thin and a walker comes in. She is wearing nicely creased baby blue trousers and a perfectly ironed white blouse. A younger woman is with her—her daughter? The younger woman explains what each thing is and the older woman is excited about trying different things. “They are all good,” I tell her as I leave.

F. drives me on Tuesday and it is a good thing. The round trip, including a stop at the post takes less than an hour. Fatigue settled in. I got into my pjs and get into bed at 6 supposedly to read. I woke 15 hours later.

The only way I knew that the cat slept me was she left enough fur to prove her presence.