A strange night. Dogged, faithful return to the toilet every half hour, knowing my stomach has nothing left in it to force out. My body is very good at making me get out of bed when it has a point to enforce.

Look after yourself.

To be honest, I got the message fairly quickly.

But my stomach wanted to make sure I really understood.

2:30

Sorry to do this, but...

3am.

Look after yourself.

3:30

Look after yourself.

4am

Or this will keep happening.

4:30

Yes, I know you're tired... keep listening.

5am

Look after yourself. You know how, now.

Sleep.

And it's not over today. I'm not being allowed to treat this as a rest day, an activity day, a lazy day. I'm very aware of the meaning of this constant neck ache, the head ache, the restlessness, the knowing I have to just wait. Attend. Attune. It's a painful process. Seeing that this isn't the first time I've been told, it's obviously been extended this time, for memorability. It humbles me, every time, but it's time for some hard work now. Or rather, tomorrow. For now, I'll be held hostage some time longer.

I don't know whether it's relevant, but I dreamt I'd woken up and lost part of my leg. A straight cut, diagonal. I plonked it back into position, but not seamlessly. And it needed attention before it died off. I wiggled my toes. Still semi tangible. That didn't make sense. Were the nerve tissues still touching, like copper wire? Richard wouldn't take me to hospital. 999 didn't work from my mobile; I eventually figured out I had to dial 086. The woman on the other end of the phone was useless and hung up on me. I didn't think, for a second, that it wasn't real. When I woke up, it was like coming back from a long trip away, from somewhere that definitely existed. I wiggled my toes again. I'm now unafraid of losing a limb, but can't make any other connections. Feel free to deconstruct that one for me while I sup my chamomile and surrender to the superior authority of the body that allows me to move in the world.