THIS CHURN OF HELPERS

It has become clear that taking care of yourself is an act of selflessness, or even altruism.

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Heidi comes down, empties my urine bag, turns me over, lubes my anus, inserts a suppository into my rectum, pressing it inside with her forefinger, before putting the kettle on. At 8:00 AM, Mohammed from the council arrives, washes and moisturises my body, and then dresses me.

I am trussed into a sling, lifted from the bed, and lowered into a wheelchair, where my splints are put on. Then I am positioned in front of my computer, where I can commune with the bad news of the day.

While doing this, Heidi brushes my teeth, shaves me, feeds me, and gives me my meds. Meanwhile, Isabella sits opposite with a morning espresso. Recently, she has taken to wearing noise-cancelling headphones, which she bought to muffle my barked instructions at the computer: “Scroll down! Click 192! Go back!” and so on. She looks cute but doesn’t appreciate me saying so.

Carlo comes round, reluctantly taking down some of my thoughts for this blog while arguing over most of them. Heidi heads out to the fish shop for my lunch. Because of my diabetes, I am now on an all-protein diet.

In the afternoon, Maria, my new assistant, helps me with my emails. One of my physios arrives shortly after to give me a workout, and then Tracey and Isabella prepare my supper. Mohammed returns and helps Heidi put me to bed, after which Isabella joins me, and we watch police procedurals as she feeds me sips of my Bloody Mary and weed vape.

“It’s a bit like being in the court of Saddam Hussein,” Isabella comments.