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One of the pieces of mail I came home to, after Antarctica, was an appointment notice for my annual checkup to see whether Quasimodo Uterus is up to anything. In January, the June appointment was expected to be just like the previous June appointments, but at the start of June, everything having changed, I phoned to see if the appointment was still on, given the backlog in hospital services. The lady on the phone seemed to think I was getting cold feet about coming in; I emphasised the news of backlogs and she said if that was a problem they'd have cancelled, but as my appointment was still on I should come as planned.
So this morning, this very muggy morning after an hour of drizzle, I biked up to Addenbrooke's. Last summer it felt like I couldn't keep away, with all the procedures required to pass the medical for my Antarctic deployment, so it was a little nostalgic rolling in to the old bike rack under the chimney swift nests again.
I wasn't nervous about a hospital visit because the outpatients clinic is in a completely separate building from Emergency and Intensive Care, so chances of picking up The Virus from an active case are about as low as anywhere else, or perhaps even lower: There's a gauntlet of nurses at a checkpoint just inside the door, checking your mask is on right and you've gelled your hands, and they would redirect anyone showing symptoms, so it might be one of the most Covid-free places to be.
The ultrasound went fine – not only were there no sharp intakes of breath, but the nurse driving the machine was training someone, so I got running commentary on what she was doing and why, a nice treat. The clinic generally was very quiet, compared to last year, so either they've booked fewer appointments, or other people did get cold feet. I came back the long way – slowly, in the heat – and got an iced coffee at the café that has been closed every time I pass it on my way to groceries. They are only doing takeaway, so the chairs are all stacked in a way that would make the place look closed if it weren't for the door propped open. I hope they are finding it worthwhile to be in business again. They didn't look to have had much footfall that morning.
I got home in time to put in a full day's work, much to my surprise, having mentally written off half the day, but it was too muggy so I oiled the terracotta kitchen floor instead. This was a job I started doing at the old place when a former housemate had been overenthusiastic with the bleach and stripped what finish the poor old floor still had; I looked up how to recondition it, and had refreshed it annually on the hottest day of the summer, when prolonged contact with a cool tile floor was most comfortable and, I hoped, the oil would soak in and cure faster. I moved my bottle of linseed oil here with me, where it has already seen a lot of use and will do more.
And so it was that by one o'clock I had accomplished about three times as much as I usually do in such a span, which makes me think I really need to get more organised with my time – shifting the workday later has worked all right, but aimlessly bumping around all morning doing jobs as they occur to me is not as effective as it could be. It's going to be cooler next week so I think I will get out on the bike to explore a new route every morning, and hopefully that will get me in gear for the rest of the day. If not, at least I will see some countryside and get some exercise, which will be no bad thing. Should I cross paths with The Virus, then, I will be in better stead to fight it off.
In recent weeks I have found myself happy to sit and chill and, to my great surprise, not think about anything. This had started to worry me as perhaps a sign of early dementia, as hitherto my brain has been a constantly humming beehive, but now I wonder: is this what Not Anxiety feels like? Is this the appeal of, for example, sunbathing? Such pastimes had always appeared frustratingly dull to me, but if normal people's brains don't need one or more chew toys at any given moment, then I begin to see the appeal.
So this morning, this very muggy morning after an hour of drizzle, I biked up to Addenbrooke's. Last summer it felt like I couldn't keep away, with all the procedures required to pass the medical for my Antarctic deployment, so it was a little nostalgic rolling in to the old bike rack under the chimney swift nests again.
I wasn't nervous about a hospital visit because the outpatients clinic is in a completely separate building from Emergency and Intensive Care, so chances of picking up The Virus from an active case are about as low as anywhere else, or perhaps even lower: There's a gauntlet of nurses at a checkpoint just inside the door, checking your mask is on right and you've gelled your hands, and they would redirect anyone showing symptoms, so it might be one of the most Covid-free places to be.
The ultrasound went fine – not only were there no sharp intakes of breath, but the nurse driving the machine was training someone, so I got running commentary on what she was doing and why, a nice treat. The clinic generally was very quiet, compared to last year, so either they've booked fewer appointments, or other people did get cold feet. I came back the long way – slowly, in the heat – and got an iced coffee at the café that has been closed every time I pass it on my way to groceries. They are only doing takeaway, so the chairs are all stacked in a way that would make the place look closed if it weren't for the door propped open. I hope they are finding it worthwhile to be in business again. They didn't look to have had much footfall that morning.
I got home in time to put in a full day's work, much to my surprise, having mentally written off half the day, but it was too muggy so I oiled the terracotta kitchen floor instead. This was a job I started doing at the old place when a former housemate had been overenthusiastic with the bleach and stripped what finish the poor old floor still had; I looked up how to recondition it, and had refreshed it annually on the hottest day of the summer, when prolonged contact with a cool tile floor was most comfortable and, I hoped, the oil would soak in and cure faster. I moved my bottle of linseed oil here with me, where it has already seen a lot of use and will do more.
And so it was that by one o'clock I had accomplished about three times as much as I usually do in such a span, which makes me think I really need to get more organised with my time – shifting the workday later has worked all right, but aimlessly bumping around all morning doing jobs as they occur to me is not as effective as it could be. It's going to be cooler next week so I think I will get out on the bike to explore a new route every morning, and hopefully that will get me in gear for the rest of the day. If not, at least I will see some countryside and get some exercise, which will be no bad thing. Should I cross paths with The Virus, then, I will be in better stead to fight it off.
In recent weeks I have found myself happy to sit and chill and, to my great surprise, not think about anything. This had started to worry me as perhaps a sign of early dementia, as hitherto my brain has been a constantly humming beehive, but now I wonder: is this what Not Anxiety feels like? Is this the appeal of, for example, sunbathing? Such pastimes had always appeared frustratingly dull to me, but if normal people's brains don't need one or more chew toys at any given moment, then I begin to see the appeal.
