My head is pounding, my nose is streaming and I still haven't pulled myself out of the dark hole. The pain doesn't seem to come to an end and I feel it from the strands of my hair through to the soles of my feet and everything is sore.
I shed silent tears of pain as I sit bedraggled in the surgery waiting room, glancing up at the screen every time I hear that familiar beep and yet making every effort to avoid eye contact with an actual person only to notice that my name still hasn't come up.
My name flashes up and I hobble along the corridor carrying my heavy body and of course I get the duty GP (the irony of the one that knows my history is on long-term sick is not lost on me) and so obviously I have to head to the furthest office in the building. I mumble something about needing another Fit Note to excuse me from actively seeking employment and that the painkillers aren't working and oh can I have some more antidepressants as well, thank you very much. I ask, as I have every month for the last four months since we moved here, for a referral to pain management and am told there are still lots of combinations that we haven't yet tried, that these things take time.
Prescriptions and Fit Note issued, I head to the pharmacy next door and the wait is a minimum of 45 minutes so I decide that I will collect the new pills tomorrow before slowly hobbling home again where I quite literally collapse onto the sofa because I am just so exhausted.
"Are you better Mummy? Did the Doctor fix you?"
"Not yet sweetheart."
"I will get you something." And with that Harry turns around and heads into his bedroom, bringing a blanket, pillow and Ernie on his return, telling the husband "Daddy, Mummy needs a coffee now and I will give her a cuddle" and he climbs onto the sofa next to me, stroking my back as if something so simple could take the pain away.
If only, Harry, if only. But thank you so much anyway.