My son went off to football this afternoon. There have been few occasions when I have opted not to go and watch, but I have missed the last two games. Last week - just to spite me - he actually scored. Weeks of standing in icy gales and he scores when I don't turn up.
It was three weeks ago that I had my mini stroke. It feels like five minutes ago and it feels like five months. It is both horribly vivid and yet somehow distant - as if I have already shed the skin of that version of me and moved on.
But of course I haven't really. I don't think I will be able to until my warfarin dose has been sorted out and I have seen my consultant and (I hope) had the all clear from him.
I have a blood test booked for tomorrow morning. The results from that will hopefully show that my INRs have risen to a safe level and that I can cut out the clexane injections.
But I have learned not to get ahead of myself.