One night I couldn’t sleep so I went through the Nato alphabet in my head to see if I knew it all. Turns out I could sleep as I only got as far as about J. I think I just expected I wouldn’t be able to sleep. But caring for mum, two dogs and trying to hold down a job makes for quite a full day regardless of whatever life-changing news you might receive. But what the fuck is K?

I start strong with alpha, bravo, then it takes me a few seconds but I do get charlie. It’s hard to tell if the other Charlie is any more unsettled than usual. He was hiding is his special spot before all this kicked off. And he’s adapted to the changes surprisingly well: the new walking schedule, even riding in my car. Snowie was her stubborn self to start with but after accepting there was no alternative, now drags me all around the houses. D I thought I didn’t know then quickly realised it was Delta having heard it on ‘Cabin Pressure’ when the character funnily enough called Arthur is being tested and comes up with the most absurd suggestions. Mine haven’t faired much better at times. Echo I also remember from the radio, foxtrot I knew well, particularly after seeing the film ‘Whiskey Tango Foxtrot’ which turned out to be a much better watch than I thought it would be. G must have stumped me because I’m struggling to remember it again now. Ghetto, Godfrey, Godzilla. Got to guess g’s. God?

The ones I’m completely stuck on are K and M, ironically my initials. The general consensus of the family is that it’s more likely kilo than Kardashian, but we’re by no means sure. M I don’t know, unless its mamma as there’s papa further down. Papa himself thinks its kilo and the new carer thought he was a military man so he must be right. No, mum replied, he just likes to be in control. I clarified this wasn’t a coercion thing, worried what trigger words social services might look out for, just that he liked order. There is a degree of order in his days now, but certainly no control.

For ages I was also stuck on V – voluptuous, volcano, Voldemort. Apparently its not Venetoclax. In the end I remembered Victor. Always good to check names as they come up more than you’d think. But M is still a mystery, a muddle, a marvellous medicine? I hope so.

Lizzie’s got a new prescription for her cough. They tested her for Covid. She whined and ‘don’t like it’-d it, but got lots of stickers so all was well. She sweeps through the room like a fresh breeze all care-free and flowing yellow dress – “have a great day” she says. Then a few seconds later she’s back with “and have a great morning”. ‘I think she means for tomorrow’ my brother clarifies. I love the Lizzie more than anything but by god she can be American sometimes. Children are the future as the song goes. V must stand for vomit.

R is definitely for racist dogs – C&S will only interact with little shite dogs, sorry little white dogs. Anything too big or less than eggshell on the Dulux chart is to be barked at or ignored (I’m not sure which is more insulting). On my ever increasing to do list is to check out the Cinnamon Trust. Apparently they can help with our situation. Perhaps R is actually for Responsive Services who visited on Friday and gave us our first taste of carers today – a second Margaret (always good to have a spare) and Ban. They also came for lunch, but they won’t be there for dinner. Guess who’s coming to dinner? No idea. What’s the saying go – about whether you call it dinner or tea? Or you say supper? Supposed to imply which class you fall into. Mum says tea but only because she has her main meal at lunch and to us a tea implies a lighter meal. I say dinner, as tea gets too confusing with the amount of cups of the stuff I make mum each day. And supper is if you’re in a Jane Austen novel. S I would never have got, but luckily mum said sierra straight off. 

M should be for Meg. I miss the fur children. Steph and Andy make excellent surrogates, but I don’t sleep as sweetly without the sound of a small motor vibrating at my side. And the scratch marks on my arms have completely healed now that Gus isn’t around to suckle my inner elbow and knead the surrounding area mercilessly. There must be a term for that area of the body. I’ll look it up. It’s the medial epicondyle of the humerus. Hardly rolls off the tongue. But it abbreviates as ‘meh’ which I quite like. I refuse to look up the Nato alphabet until I think I’ve got a reasonable suggestion for M. I suspect its not Myleoid.

Its getting close to 5pm so I guess I better get back to mum. The nice neighbours are walking the subwoofers to help us out. Means I can actually take this one hour for myself to do some tippy tappy. Steph says I need to take some time for myself. I have to fit in more work tonight – got to finish the monthly report (its only short) then perhaps I’ll steal mum’s foot spa and get the carpet soggy. Tomorrow is a visiting day.

L is for leukaemia. And F is for fuck.