The Morning After
So, Tim and I slept apart for the first time last night. I was lucky to have the whole bed to myself but the poor boy had to rough it out on the airbed on the floor. He claims the experience was very frustrating but I’m thankful at least we got to stay in the same room.
The main thing that’s hard to get used to for us is staying physically distant from each other. I imagine that if we were ever just platonic flatmates that this is what life would be like. But of course, we weren’t ever that so it’s a strange reality to get adjusted to. I’m also beginning to understand now how big a role body language actually plays. Sitting on one end of the couch whilst Tim is on a chair a few feet away isn’t conducive to any meaningful or deep conversation. That’s not to say that we’re treating each other like total strangers at the moment but it does make me feel less inclined to get into anything more than general small talk.
In the meantime, the agenda for the rest of my day is to stay indoors. I’m expecting the delivery of my first credit card in England, which should help me build up a “credit history”. Personally though, I don’t actually need a credit card as debit cards are accepted everywhere here but it turns out I need one or else my credit history remains non-existent. That’s not a good situation to be in especially since I’ve been in the country for just over 10 months [can’t believe it’s been that long!] and I still can’t buy shoes online with some companies because they can’t decide whether I have a worthy credit history or not. The other thing I’ve also been advised to do by our mortgage consultant is to switch my Pay&Go mobile phone top-ups to a contract just so it adds to my credit history. This will come in handy when Tim and I hope to be seriously shopping around for a property in 6 months time or so. Man, the things one has to do to get some kind of record..
Anyways, one last thing I wanted to mention before I finish my entry for the day. It’s to do with a yellow piece of paper which the hospital gave me after the treatment yesterday. It contains some basic information like my name, the dosage of radioiodine I’ve been given and the date it was administered to me. It also contains some instructions for what I can do and cannot do [as if I’m going to forget I can’t be around people]. Most importantly though, I need to carry this piece of paper with me everywhere I go for the next 6 months. It’s like one of those patient wrist-tags people wear, but just a lot less convenient in my case. I guess it’ll be important if I suddenly drop dead so people will find the phone number for the hospital treating me. Truth be told though, I suspect the main reason I have to carry it has to do with the sentence below..
YOU WILL CONTINUE TO CONTAIN VERY LOW RESIDUAL LEVELS OF RADIOACTIVITY FOR WEEKS TO COME, WHICH MAY BE DETECTED BY SECURITY SCANNERS AT AIRPORTS, RAILWAY STATIONS ETC.
I mean, how cool is that?!?
I cannot wait to accidentally set off some security system and watch the disbelief on peoples’ faces as I explain with a straight face “No, seriously..I AM radioactive. I don’t have anything in my pockets. I swear, it’s coming from my throat!”.
They’d prolly think I was taking the piss but I’m still convinced it’d be a fun social experiment.
The main thing that’s hard to get used to for us is staying physically distant from each other. I imagine that if we were ever just platonic flatmates that this is what life would be like. But of course, we weren’t ever that so it’s a strange reality to get adjusted to. I’m also beginning to understand now how big a role body language actually plays. Sitting on one end of the couch whilst Tim is on a chair a few feet away isn’t conducive to any meaningful or deep conversation. That’s not to say that we’re treating each other like total strangers at the moment but it does make me feel less inclined to get into anything more than general small talk.
In the meantime, the agenda for the rest of my day is to stay indoors. I’m expecting the delivery of my first credit card in England, which should help me build up a “credit history”. Personally though, I don’t actually need a credit card as debit cards are accepted everywhere here but it turns out I need one or else my credit history remains non-existent. That’s not a good situation to be in especially since I’ve been in the country for just over 10 months [can’t believe it’s been that long!] and I still can’t buy shoes online with some companies because they can’t decide whether I have a worthy credit history or not. The other thing I’ve also been advised to do by our mortgage consultant is to switch my Pay&Go mobile phone top-ups to a contract just so it adds to my credit history. This will come in handy when Tim and I hope to be seriously shopping around for a property in 6 months time or so. Man, the things one has to do to get some kind of record..
Anyways, one last thing I wanted to mention before I finish my entry for the day. It’s to do with a yellow piece of paper which the hospital gave me after the treatment yesterday. It contains some basic information like my name, the dosage of radioiodine I’ve been given and the date it was administered to me. It also contains some instructions for what I can do and cannot do [as if I’m going to forget I can’t be around people]. Most importantly though, I need to carry this piece of paper with me everywhere I go for the next 6 months. It’s like one of those patient wrist-tags people wear, but just a lot less convenient in my case. I guess it’ll be important if I suddenly drop dead so people will find the phone number for the hospital treating me. Truth be told though, I suspect the main reason I have to carry it has to do with the sentence below..
YOU WILL CONTINUE TO CONTAIN VERY LOW RESIDUAL LEVELS OF RADIOACTIVITY FOR WEEKS TO COME, WHICH MAY BE DETECTED BY SECURITY SCANNERS AT AIRPORTS, RAILWAY STATIONS ETC.
I mean, how cool is that?!?
I cannot wait to accidentally set off some security system and watch the disbelief on peoples’ faces as I explain with a straight face “No, seriously..I AM radioactive. I don’t have anything in my pockets. I swear, it’s coming from my throat!”.
They’d prolly think I was taking the piss but I’m still convinced it’d be a fun social experiment.