Post 153: Warm welcomes and angry goodbyes.
The Autumn weather subdued the mood but Kevin got his blessings, after all.
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Ending the day with a visit from our mates, who drove through the wind and rain to have a chat with us, was lovely — but by then I had used up my super-human powers and sat like a “lounge room lizard” (Crowded House), without movement or much conversation to be honest.
But our guests were kind and full of talk about the two homes they are putting on the market and selling to raise the cash to do up the third property.
It’s all very exciting but, on the back of a divorce, it’s frequently fraught with danger and anxiety. However, their hedge clearing is going to plan and number 3 is becoming the shell it needs to be, so they can turn it into their dream home. It’ll take a while and, as they are both older than me, I can’t help but admire their mental and physical strength pouring out of them with all the plans and work schedules — that they seem totally un-phased by.
The reality for me, as I sat there listening to their lists of work to-do, is that I will only be able to scale up any plans to do some household improvements by way of hiring help to attain my goals — my Darling’s goals.
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By the time the early morning drugs had made a start on giving me the boost I needed, the AFib had gone.
Last night’s 14 hours of raging heartbeat was a trial of endurance that leaves me with a washed-out feeling and takes most of the day to get back on your feet (if at all). But I had to be positive and pro-active because of the family focus on Kev today.
After a short chat my Darling had chosen the Parish Church for our rare foray into the religious world, but not only that — it was at the C of E rather than the Catholic community we were visiting. We share the divide equally, as I was born into the former and her the latter.
In Ireland the family will group up in the local chapel and remember Kev. His life and times will be in our hearts once more and maybe, we will feel some peace.
The month’s Mass was always going to be something I could participate in and help my Darling experience, but I didn’t expect the style of the service to be so modern, nor did I want to have a breakfast or lunch before and after — but these were both possible in the one building.
I lapsed into being an agnostic long ago but respect personal preference and choices. So I’m very happy to associate with Christian people and consider myself a Christian at heart and on a daily basis, due to my inbred morals.
That said, by the time the lunch was available and the hymns had been sung, we were rather glad to make our way towards the back of the building and head out. The sermon was well read but overly long (as it should be, perhaps), and all we wanted was to collect our thoughts and find some quiet. The service was anything but quiet — and my head and ears wanted to rest.
As we made our way to the exit, unlike everyone else — who stayed — the Vicar and his entourage kindly shook our hands. But as we couldn’t be swayed to stay longer and be a part of the family of their church, we were sent on our way with genuine smiles and blessings.
I thought to myself, “See you later Kev, catch you next time.” I saw his smile in my mind’s eye as I held onto my Darling’s hand and headed back to the Autumn-ness of the world around us and my current life.
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My Darling had a food shopping list on her mind, but not before a coffee break in the usual café. In fact, I was there choosing a drink and asked for a Healthy Breakfast number 2. My body must have decided without asking my brain for permission — but, why ever not.
Our chats were subdued and, after my Darling had consumed her Earl Grey, I was left to my breakfast “alone” while the ingredients for our Sunday dinner, chilli-non-carne, were gathered from the supermarket next door.
While I ate the breakfast-fare and later, on into the evening, I still couldn’t clear my head of the situation I was in.
Yes, Kev was in the past and we had dealt with him earlier to a certain extent, but he and I were not able to talk nonsense and cheer each other up in the way we had for all those years — but now, sadly, are behind us.
Why am I feeling like I’m missing something?
Why am I wondering where I should be or, more importantly, what my Darling and I should be doing together?
The bloods I received from that unknown source, that wonderful and generous person I have benefited from, have helped internally and given me hope. But the thought I had — that it was going to make me superhuman — is sadly mistaken. I’m disappointed.
I’m tired and confused.
I’m again trying to find my place in this world.
Who am I now?
A lot has changed, but surely I’m still the same person under the dressing gown?
Or am I?
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I’ve been trying my best to answer a question set by a forum member last week about how he feels.
I did reply, but Mr U (Unremarkable) wants to be more honest — but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Why am I so angry?” was the question. How do you answer that?
I feel that the question deserves my full attention because I do feel angry. I feel angry every day.
I look out at the café customers from my healthy breakfast and ponder…
Through the front door, with the hygiene ratings and posters stuck on its glass, are the “fresh air people” with their matches and vapes, their mobility scooters and their greying or baldy heads. Yes, I’m talking about the older clientele who are laughing and joking every day with their mates. Meeting up and chewing the fat with a latté and a fag.
Yes, I’m angry. Yes, I’m jealous.
Of course I am. I can’t help it.
What have I done to be chemically castrated at 58 and given a plan of drugs to keep my naughty cells in the right place?
Angry doesn’t cut it — I’m fuming!
The carcinogenic smoke curls around the tables au-fresco and tangles in the hair of the young-ones looking up to their granddaddies and mummies in admiration and love, while I look on and wonder what the hell happened to my life and expectations.
Yes, I’m angry…
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I’ve only been a reader of books for 11 years, as I’ve bored you with before, but Charles Dickens’ authority about his world of Victorian England and the way families connect interests me. But the two words I’m always considering lately are expectations and great.
As a kid growing up I knew I was special. Not special in a noticeable way — special because I’m different.
I don’t know why I wasn’t like other kids with their gangs and love of football, I wasn’t interested in all that stuff.
Neither was I clever or geeky. I was simple.
When I met and fell in love with my Darling I couldn’t believe my luck.
I was complete. I am still complete.
And maybe that’s the crux of the problem.
I got lucky all those years ago, and now I’m out of luck.
That’s absolutely possible.
———
Mr Unremarkable is angry but he was also lucky.
That’s good enough. I’ll take that.
———
The bus rumbles on and there’s a new chill in the air, with the feelings of steady unstoppable progression, with the changes of the colours in the garden and local hedgerows - and inside me.
I’ll have to accept those changes and live with them. Like everyone else.
Week 2, chemo 5, all going ok.
