The bad fortnight

This week:

The nausea has a shape to it now. Thursday teatime it starts, Friday it peaks, Saturday afternoon it lifts. Once I could see the pattern it stopped feeling like something happening to me at random.

Brief.

Headache for three days running. It turned out I had barely drunk anything since Tuesday. Water, then a slow improvement, then feeling faintly stupid.

Constipation, which I have avoided writing about for six weeks out of pure squeamishness. It is the thing making me most miserable and I have said nothing about it to anybody. That seems worth noticing.

Garden calls.