Cambridge. Twelve weeks today, which I know is only a number on a calendar, but it was the number I was told to get to and I have got to it, so I am marking it.
Things I would tell week-one me, in the order she would have needed them.
- The first three days after a step are the tax. Not the new normal. I spent all of December convinced each bad Tuesday was permanent.
- You will not be able to tell what is working and what is not for at least six weeks, so writing things down is not admin, it is the only instrument you have.
- Tell one person. Just one. I told nobody for five weeks and the loneliness of it was worse than the nausea by a distance.
- Buy the small yoghurts. Not the big pot. The big pot will sit there reproaching you and the small one gets eaten.
- The stairs at work will change before anything else does. Mine did around week five and I nearly cried in the stairwell at Christmas.
Things I got wrong. I chased every suggestion in my first fortnight and changed four things at once, so I learned nothing from a whole miserable month. I also assumed everyone posting confidently knew more than me. About half of them did.
What I would say to anybody in week two reading this at midnight: the specific misery you are in right now is almost certainly the medicine settling and not your future. That was true for me. It was not true for two people I have got to know here, and they got seen and it was handled, and that is also how this goes.
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