I've decided that I'm not going to spend my life sat upstairs, on the bed. I have a hospital style chair (straight up, padded, with a plastic cover and which can be raised or lowered by moving E rings into higher or lower holes), that Occupational Therapy gave me about 15 years ago and so I bought a 17 inch square bean bag pouffe and it all allows me to sit as though on the bed.
I know that part of the problem is anxiety and panic. You see, I'm safe upstairs, if anybody knocks on the door I don't have to see them - stupid at 61, isn't it?
I'm also back to doing my cross stitch. I've had poliphilo/Tony moving furniture around until I found the 'right' place for me to sit. I'm going to try to sit up until Shirley goes to bed at 9 pm. Last night she couldn't undo her bra and Tony found it a difficult thing for him to do for her - quite right she's his mum. If I can hang around at least I could help with that. I can't do much due to pain and stiffness, but that much I could.
Tomorrow will be the first time out since Boxing day (except for nipping to the doctors for everyone's tablets). So far we are going to St. Mary-in-the-Marsh to see E Nesbit's grave and then on to the Woolpack at Brooklands for lunch - though the pub could change if Tony sees anywhere interesting before we get to Brooklands. He wanders around churches and graveyards and I sit and read my Kindle. I love driving, but it's enough in a day.