I had hoped it was fading away.  The drugs aren’t in use 24/7, but as night time approaches there’s no doubt that the pain levels increase.

My prescribed Tramadol dose is four a day.  The internet says take six.  Sometimes I have.  Often it’s less.  But I pay a price.  Sleeping late being the big one.  The stronger option in my drawer would be even worse to recover from.

But if I’m still awake at 11.30pm I might move up a level tonight.  Regardless of the side effects.  The butt pain isn’t kind, and although it’s not shooting down my right leg, my right ankle feels about two feet in diameter.  A physical check confirms it isn’t.  But the pain has referred.

I’m less creative when it hurts.  Last game of the season in a couple of weeks and I’m struggling to think clearly about it.  It might even be the game that finally relegates Oldham.  Friends are making a weekend of it.  I could drive, but it’s possible I’ll have had biopsy, chemotherapy and radiotherapy the week before.  Another regret that Motability won’t let Chris drive the BMW.

Train?  Possible.  But need to make sure Chris can do it solo if I can’t get there.  Disabled Railcard is usually good for both of us.  This time we’ll have to utilise individual railcards.  Same price.

I’m glad I’ve typed that.  The chances of remembering in the morning are slim.  Coherent thinking and memory recall mixed at best these last few days.

The sooner they get me back on some sort of treatment, the better.