Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's back to work I go

I tentatively went back to work on Monday 14th May. After five weeks of being predominantly horizontal it was something of a shock to the system. Just getting out the front door was a job in itself. If my grumbling tummy didn’t wake me first, my alarm would do the honours at 6.30am. First port of call the toilet. Then the bath. Possibly the toilet again. Predfoam up the bum, the remainder of my medication down the hatch. Rest for a bit, wait for stomach cramps to ease off. By 8.30am I’m just about ready to climb back into bed, but instead I leave the house. The ten minute walk to the station turns into a fifteen minute slog. Quite unconcerned by who I might offend, I’m openly swearing and cursing with every miserable step, cajoling my weary body on like a potty-mouthed Grand National jockey. I arrive on the platform ashen. Beep-beep-beep, train doors open. Urine stained seats have never looked so inviting. Thirteen minutes before my legs are required again. Beep-beep-beep, train doors open. Last leg of the journey and I’m on my last legs. Five minutes later I arrive at the office and immediately flop onto a seat. A toilet seat to be precise. Start as you mean to go on being the mantra. Only eight hours to get through. Drugs helped; the co-codamol had a suitably numbing effect. And fortunately I have a job where sitting with your feet on your desk, staring glassy eyed into the distance isn’t necessarily seen as a bad thing. That first week back I managed to go in for just three days. It was the commute that was the killer. It exhausted me. I did some thinking over the weekend and on the following Monday I arrived at work in a nice, comfortable taxi. It cost £18, but it was worth every last penny.