Good luck for the 👁️ tomorrow, Grammaretto. You'll be staggered at the difference.
Your story was beautifully crafted, Kaimona, soothing and a joy to read, thank you.
Doodle, there will be ups and downs along your difficult journey, know that we with are with you all the way🌼
I hope you get some rest tonight- (you do have a chauffeuring system in place, I hope?.)
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More great news, slow and steady does it tortoise 
Sheesh, Hypothermia !
A little gentle reminiscence.
Every Whitsuntide, from 1958, my parents took us to Borrans Court, in Waterhead at the northern tip of Lake Windermere.
Borrans was on a rise overlooking the lake and the extensive garden between house and road was planted with a mass of azalea and miniature rhododendron.
At that time of year the whole hillside was in bloom and the scent, incredible.
My family were all ‘owls’ but I was a lark so just after dawn each day I’d pull on my swimming costume, run down the narrow rustic steps through the garden and dash across the field to the lake.
Yellow Flag was in bloom beside sturdy Reedmace aka Bullrush but I pushed my way through (gently) and into the water. Bliss.
I'd learned to swim in the icy rivers of the Yorkshire Dales, so cold water was no problem, a trait my little grand-daughter has inherited it seems 
No one was about. Tourists would come later in the season but not in droves. Serious walkers following Wainwrights early walks and a few climbers but the fells were quiet, waiting.
Ambleside was still a small town where the shops catered for the locals rather than “the tourist trade”. It was a peaceful place.
I would swim hard for half an hour, activity necessary to stave off hyperthermia but allow myself a few luxurious minutes to float in the silence and look up at the endless sky.
Then reluctantly I’d walk slowly home, past a heap of mossy, neglected stones in the field between house and lake.
These stones fascinated me as a small, square shape could be made out. Could they be Roman? Did some rich senator once have a home on the lakeside? Surely they would have been better cared for if they really were so ancient?
Now, Galava as it is tentatively called, is thought to have been a Roman fort guarding the route to Ravensglass but it was to be many years before anyone but me cared about this.
Occasionally, even here in New Zealand, I will throw back the big, glass doors in the very early morning and catch a similar aroma of awakening foliage, mown grass and blossoms and I’ll speed back to those wonderful, solitary swims amongst the bullrushes and tall, golden Iris.
You live up to your name Sweetpea, such a nice message.
I hope you drop in more often.
It is indeed a deeply troubling time. We can only watch, worry and wait - sending as much love and strength as we can to our dear Mr & Mrs Doodle.
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