Post 106: How do I feel – it’s complicated.
Habits are quite hard to get rid of – I have woken up again in the wee small hours. I need to sleep, stop thinking, be free from the circle of decay my mind is in, and just be me.
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How has it come to this?
My world has shrunk down, and my mind is full of pity for myself. Why can’t I be like I used to – plan and enjoy the day, evening, and night?
I spent today worrying about the syringes, which have now been prescribed and ordered by my usual pharmacy. Something has finally clicked into place, and I am filled with joy knowing the system will now work.
The weeds at the front of the house are in the bin, and I’m happy that my short spells of activity were able to tidy up the house for the valuations.
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Both valuations have helped us understand what value our wonderful home holds, but in reality a downsize won’t rely on value – it’s finding a new happy home that matters. Somewhere secure where we can live… Me, My Darling, and the cancer.
Thant’s a horrible thing to say. Why do I think like that?
Being indirectly upset about everything is eating me alive. I can’t help but feel sorry for myself, and with the tiredness that prevents any industrious activities, I’d prefer to do myself, I’m screaming inside to be normal again.
Platitudes from official strangers who come to our home to hear the reasons for selling up and finding a new place to “live” are okay to a point – and then it’s just business.
In my heart, I feel the cracks as the reality of this cancerous experience forces us to change direction and head into old-age end-of-life planning before our time.
I’m angry that I have to do this.
I can’t help but go along with the practical planning for My Darling’s future without me, but I’m not going to be there – and it’s obvious that my mind hasn’t got used to this fact.
I say I’m okay. I say I feel better. I say a lot of things.
But inside I’m not okay, not ready, not happy, not right.
Since the very start of our relationship, My Darling and I have stood together.
Us against the world.
We had no money, no direction as such, but we had each other.
We were stuck together with the strongest glue.
Along the way, we faced financial hardship, when negative equity ate away our ability to live – but it made us a stronger team in our fight for daily sanity and personal freedoms.
Our one-bedroom flat became a haven for the close-knit family we had become. Two baby boys grew up in cramped surroundings, but with endless love and attention, and little else, we thrived – and came out of those times with amazing survival instincts.
Looking back at how we coped during that financially devastating period makes me confident we can cope, especially in the relative luxury we enjoy now.
We have capital in our home and an abundance of choices – that’s not what we had back then.
So why am I so negative deep down?
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The afternoon sun helped my mood, and the sunflowers make me smile with their golden ring of petals. And I’m suddenly reminded of jewellers in Dublin.
Back in time: My Darling and I had popped over to her homeland for a short summer break, and this day was a day out in the capital city to look around and see the sights.
The Trinity College gardens – so green and welcoming – were a pleasant sight after the shopping centres and retail therapy we couldn’t really afford. The Ha’penny Bridge (Liffey Bridge) – iconic and impressive in equal measure.
This was before the kids, and a more innocent time when tourism mixed with the “troubles” – but it didn’t stop the craic.
We had my Dad with us on that holiday. He loved my Darling’s ‘old’ country so much that after our wedding, he went back several times to see the in-laws and chat – which is what the Irish do best.
The three of us had strayed into the suburbs of the city, away from the touristy parts, and stumbled on a shop – a jeweller’s shop – and Dad and My Darling stopped and looked in the window.
I was all for walking by quickly, but I was called back when both had spied something I “had to see”.
There was a large card of rings being pointed out by the both of them, and My Darling showed enormous interest in them. Dad insisted we went in. I couldn’t say no – but I wanted to. I hadn’t the funds for such an expensive gift.
Dad led the way and knew only too well that a Claddagh ring was something missing from his daughter-in-laws finger.
After trying on the one she liked best, a deal was done. Dad and I had shared the cost equally, and My Darling walked out proudly with her first ever Claddagh ring.
The memory of that day is tinged with sadness, as I couldn’t afford to buy it all myself.
The ring is a cherished possession, even if it didn’t cost a king’s ransom – and the context of its purchase is hard to swallow due to it normally being a gift of love between lovers. The fact that I only bought half of it rankles me to this day – but it is what it is - a beautiful ring.
So even with my mood swings of late, and the challenges ahead, we are still together, claddagh and all.
Maybe I should grab her hand and run happily into a local jeweller’s and give her what I couldn’t back then – a Claddagh ring from me, only me, with my love written all over it.
Should I?
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Throughout the last few years of diagnosed cancer, I have mostly felt third-person about its existence and significance. I continue to distract myself with this blog and KDramas, which help me distance myself from the harsher realities of our remaining life together.
But hey!
What am I thinking?
Nobody died.
We still have our home, our kids, our friends, and lives to lead and enjoy – I really need to remind myself that the game is afoot, and it’s far from it’s end.
Chin up, Mr U.
Today you can be and do what you like.
Use your day wisely and tell your Darling you’re okay. Be okay.
It’s easy to be defeatist – it’s a challenge, and no mistake. But with a stronger will to be normal, the day can be filled with simple things that make us smile, if you let it.
That little ring from Dublin is a little bit of the story of our lives – and it tells of solidarity.
I’m not alone, even as I write this in the wee small hours in the dark of the bedroom.
My Darling is beside me, and I should remember just how much a part of me she is.
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My weight is increasing again. 
My hair is there, but thinning.
My pulse is slow and relaxed.
I’m healthier than I imagine I am.
I’m a week away from some good news in that MRI scan report.
Be positive and live today, for tomorrow is not yet here.
For those that endure my waffle and worries – I thank you for listening.
Now get on with your day.
I love you all.
