Post 141: Tea and cake, chatty chat chat.
Morphine helps with reducing pain, but it clouds and confuses my mind.
———
I wake up with only one thing on my mind!
No, it’s not sex. Although I wish it was.
Gone are the days when sexual desire was all that was needed to break into a sweat at a moment’s notice – nowadays the only sweat I break into is in a nightmare where I’m chased by hungry wolves.
But I digress.
The one thing on my mind is the oncology meeting, two sleeps away.
———
We drove along to the local Mazda showroom to drop off my Darling’s car for a service and to discuss a possible vehicle upgrade with a salesperson. The weather was dull and showery, no doubt in preparation for the kids going back to school and the start of autumn’s colourful carnival season. Since I was a kid, the two things went hand in hand at the beginning of September: the dreadful feeling that summer was over, with a new stiff shirt to wear in class, and the weekend torchlight processions – “burning for charity” in the best possible way, honouring and celebrating the uncovering of the gunpowder plot.
It always amazes me how the weather changes over the years at this point in the calendar. The first Saturday in September, the first carnival parade and bonfire: sometimes it’s a warm evening where a T-shirt is all you need, other times there’s a frost and you freeze your nuts off while hopping from one foot to the other as the noisy torchlit participants dance past with the odd band marching behind and the wonderfully decorated floats trickling by at the rear of the procession. Another year, another carnival – Guy and his mates fail to blow up Parliament yet again.
But let’s return to the warm café we wandered into just by the railway station, tucked well out of sight. Only the pensioners frequent this brightly lit establishment, bedecked in blue-spotted table coverings that gave a welcoming, old-fashioned feel. My Darling and I felt right at home immediately, and the corner four-person table was soon full of food and car sales brochures.
We had been warned not to rush back – “we’ll call you when the service is complete” – as they were one staff member short today and everything was running behind schedule. No problem for us; we had nothing to rush about for and were delighted with the café menu and table service. We could have stayed there all day if required.
For my Darling and me, our conversation switch had been turned off since we were told of Kev’s death nearly three weeks ago. I don’t know why, perhaps a coping mechanism, but we talked less and hadn’t got to grips with the loss. It’s a vicious circle: we need to talk, but neither of us knows where to start – so we don’t.
But something (in the air tonight – thanks Phil Collins) in the café flipped that communication switch to full-on chatter mode. We started with car stuff, examining the choices on offer at the salesroom, then I spilled my guts about the up-and-coming meeting about “my cancer and me.”
While the wonderful breakfast was consumed, we bantered about what I should and shouldn’t say, and made sure I didn’t use my finger gestures because that’s rude (apparently). I wasn’t deterred by my wife’s criticism of my flamboyant hand articulations while I speak – it’s not something I can change in a day. It’s a part of who I am. My Darling helpfully suggested I sit on my hands to prevent any awkwardness. Thank you Darling (raised eyes).
During this confession of my innermost thoughts – about how scared I feel with the increasing pain, the pills to combat it, the water retention in my legs, my general weakness all over my body, and the disappointment that the cancer is progressing faster than ever – I started to understand myself, my mood. That, coupled with my frustration about the chemo’s dubious usefulness, explained it all. I’m confused and frustrated and need someone to untangle the cancer knots in my head.
So the only two questions I need to ask are: what’s happening to me right now, and what’s the plan?
In my head I’ve made it more complicated than it should be, listing and quoting all sorts that don’t get to the heart of the problem, muddying the waters rather than clearing them. After all the soul-searching, I’ve calmed down. I’ll try to keep quiet and let the expert, Dr S, tell me what she thinks is happening. We’ll start there, with the arsenal of questions in backup if needed.
It’s a bit of an anticlimax after all the build-up I’ve given, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve been quite literally a hamster in a wheel lately: running towards and away from the cancer at top speed, confused and frustrated. But in the end I need to stop running, to listen, to wake up and live today, not in the future.
———
As we were about to pay for the food, my Darling looked back at me, smiling from the counter, and asked if I’d like some cake. There was a huge choice, and rather than disappoint her I agreed to a slice of fruitcake even though I was already full to bursting. It’s a good job we didn’t need to rush off, because the slice was very generous – and the cake gorgeous too. My oh my, how we enjoyed the late breakfast at the blue spotty café. We’ll go back there again.
With the chat behind us we had moved on a little, and reconnected in a positive way, which was apparent in my mind but also in my hand – in the little warm hand of my Darling holding mine as we took the long route back to the showroom -dodging the showers en-route.
Before we left for home in my Darlings newly serviced car we arranged a test drive.
———
I am still on the bus, and I’m sitting comfortably, waiting for the route-master to tell me where I’m going.
On Thursday I need to sit on my hands and listen.
On Friday we have a brand-new car to check out.
And for the weekend carnival, I’ll see big Sis and little Bro – so I’m very happy.
Talking is only good if you have something to say. I talk a lot and get nowhere.
I have to listen more.
