Le Reveillon feels as strange as Christmas did.
Quite a good day’s physio. I can hold my arm up (well, half up) for a few seconds. I can touch the opposite shoulder (when the physio supports the weight of my arm), nearly touch my chin and not at all put my hand on waist in the pool.
Anne meanwhile is delighted: after a scare a few days ago when it looked as if things might be going wrong with her knee, she has been told she can go home on Friay, so long as she continues with daily physio. Great for her, but I will miss her.
The clinic pulled the stops out for supper: foie gras with endive et confiture d’oignon et figue, followed by capon and then little parties, washed down with a glass of wine.
Ive just finished watching a bad costume drama on Arte and can’t decide whether to stay up to trinquer le novel an. Goodness knows if anyone will be in the salon apart from the nurses. Well, it’s 11.15 as I write, so I suppose I might as well.
……. And I did. I joined a sad collection of half a dozen patients (average age over 69) and two nurses. Most of the younger or fitter patients were away for the night and the more decrepit or disabled asleep in their rooms.
Actually it was quite companionable: we toasted the new year with a bottle of red fizzy and were offered sandwiches and biscuits.
Thisis Pierre, one of my two mealtime companions:
I then paid for this break to my carefully managed routine by having a bad night with little sleep.