Post 124: It was all going so well until…
At 97, Jim Lovell passes away, and his amazing life story surrounding the Gemini and Apollo space missions is brought to the public’s eye again — and what stories he could tell. RIP Commander.
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Looking forward to little Bro coming to visit was on my mind from when I woke up.
This week has been an awful week of pain and worry, so having family over was a bonus. His family had grouped up with all the cousins and gone to Cornwall for beach and zip-wire fun, with an emphasis on family time — so the conversation would flow easily, I bet.
I was pretty relaxed, but a phone call ahead of time meant their ETA would be earlier than I’d thought. That didn’t really matter, except I hadn’t showered yet. I told my youngest niece on the phone, “Take your time driving here, please.”
They were all here before I’d finished clearing up the kitchen — lazy-bones here hadn’t done his job last night after a light dinner. But I did what I could and headed upstairs just as my Darling came downstairs, already dressed and primed for the visitors.
After making myself presentable, I came downstairs to the smell of coffee and the sound of chatter and laughter. A few hugs later, tiny Lulu was licking the bits of me she thought still weren’t clean enough, in that way only cute little dogs can do. We all settled down in the kitchen and caught up.
It was great to see little Bro’s wife and youngest daughter. The smiles and recounting of the excitement of their holiday were clear to see. My niece had grown again in character — her steady boyfriend was still in the picture, and she looked pleased and relaxed about it. She’s only 15, nearly 16. Slight in build but full of strength, she plays for a successful girls’ rugby team and trains regularly. If you saw her, you might think she was a dancer or model, but no — she’s a brave and lovely girl.
Since birth, she and my Darling have always had “a thing” for each other — not in a bad way, but they’ve always wound each other up humorously. Chipping at each other like sparring partners, they have a deep love, but on the surface, they were always teasing and challenging one another. Not many people go toe-to-toe with my Darling, and if they do, they’re often surprised at how strong and good-natured she is — but also how she won’t leave a question unasked.
To see them chatting without the mickey-taking was a sign of the times. We’ve all grown up. The little girl is now a young lady.
After a while, we went outside in the summer sunshine and continued our chats until they had to go.
For me, it was a break from the norm, and it really made me happy — though a little sad when they all left. And that’s when I started to worry about my back.
My usual seat, the comfy rocker, is somewhere I can sit all day without suffering pain from the T10 vertebra lesion. But I’d sat for nearly three hours — happily, I might add — in the kitchen table chair or outside in the wide white patio chair. When I got back to the rocker after the visitors left, I was aware of tingles in my pelvis on both sides. I took my pills and carried on, hoping my suspicion was wrong — but in the fullness of time, I was proved right.
My Darling made a lovely late-lunch pudding of pink jelly-yoghurt topped with strawberries and grapes, and we watched some catch-up TV. Later we had Korean-style noodles with small bok choy, peppers, and mushrooms in a thin brown soup. Heavenly — and something I could eat with chopsticks, which made it doubly fantastic for me.
I know this is a bit of a slow story so far, but what happened next was horrendous.
After a day of worry about my bowel movements and a sore botty, I’d made it to 9 p.m. without even the thought of a movement. Nothing. It was the seventh day after the start of the diarrhoea, and today’s inactivity was a welcome change. But even after all the usual pills, I still felt my back was troubled from my earlier casual seating arrangements with little Bro.
At 9 p.m., a sudden pain enveloped my chest, and I was in agony — just like the times before. My Darling shot out for the oral morphine and gave me the first of two 5 ml doses over the night as we tried, unsuccessfully, to rest. I was in total meltdown and wanted to jump out the window from the pain. I couldn’t find a way to stand, lie, or sit that was even remotely comfortable — it was impossible.
By 3 a.m., my carer and rock — still unable to sleep because of me — was rubbing my face or back, depending on my current contortion, with that same wide-eyed look of worry as she tried to ease my pain with soothing words. Nothing helped.
This back weakness is becoming a real problem, and without the morphine I don’t know what I’d have done. It seems to be getting slightly worse each time, and I must now pass this information on to my team for their thoughts.
So the day that promised so much and went so well ended in the usual painful way — but not how I imagined.
I guess the constipation is back now the diarrhoea has abated — and that suits me for now. I must sit still today and give my back time to heal. It’s not comfortable, but at least I can breathe in and out more easily - it’s hard to breathe with the onset of the event, which is why I turn in to a blubbering and wailing mess.
I think my gabapentin doses will have to be raised — I’ll ask. But it’s the meeting to decide if the catreatment plan stands or needs adjustment later today. I’ll tell you how it goes.
The buses are lined up, awaiting boarders to destinations unknown. My team will tell me which bus to hop on sometime today or tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’m a waste of space, sitting in a comfy chair, trying to recover from the side effects of cancer, chemo, and visitors.
What a crappy life I lead.
