Post 172: The Shape of a Normal Day
Mentally, I’ve reasoned that if I try to be normal I can be normal — but friends can really make a difference.
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I could hear the door creaking open from the room where my daughter-in-law is staying in the next door, I decide to get up and check out my body for any after-effects from yesterday’s physical activity, and head downstairs to feed Mr V and be ready for a quick send-off before she heads back to the very far north on her train home. I’d better thank her again for her reassuring company on the trip out to the county town and all its riches yesterday.
My Darling comes down with K and both are set to go-mode. The suitcase packed and the car keys found and it’s time for the ladies to head out.
It’s all smiles. It’s all very different to last week’s pain and suffering, worry and loss of hope.
It’s a big reminder to keep the faith.
While the ladies are gone I settle in my lounge chair for a while, but I must remember to get changed and ready to head for the civic centre for my Covid jab late morning. It’s also a Friday (hurrah) so I’ll be staying in with my sister-sitter, and my Darling can show off her newly coiffured hair to all at the café. She looks fab. She feels fab too — one of those things that boost you up, and god knows we’ve both needed that.
But I see a message from New York’s finest, my widowed sister-in-law.
This suddenly makes me cry.
Wow! What’s happening? I didn’t expect that.
As I was replying to her the emotions took over and the screen disappeared.
She had asked if there was anything at all that we wanted as a memento?
To which I couldn’t say right now — so I left the message hanging and dried my eyes and turned the TV on loud and watched some kind of colourful drama distraction.
After I’d calmed, it was time to carry on with the ordinary business of the day — as if emotion hadn’t just swept through the room.
I’d made it back upstairs before my Darling came back and I was halfway through changing into clothes which are best suited for a jab-in-the-arm — something that can quickly be taken off to help keep the queues moving along at the temporary clinic downtown.
I was sitting on the bed quietly, still a bit blown out by the thoughts of Kev’s death. I try not to let it bubble over but that’s what it did again, after I asked my Darling — now with her hand on my shoulder, sitting beside me asking me what’s up.
That caused a deluge again.
I grabbed tissues and she held me tight.
I gave her the blurred mobile and squeaked out, “read the text,” and while she did, I tried to refocus.
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Neither of us wanted what the others in the family craved as a memento from their kind brother — they wanted bling or clothing or something personal — but all she wanted was an image of his signature to be tattooed on her arm for posterity. Simple.
And as much as I would love the thought of something shiny myself, and this is going to sound very corny and wrong but, all I ever needed from him was to keep our secret promise — to look after my Darling after I’m gone; (there, I did it. Not a secret now).
I don’t need anything but his smile in my heart, which I’ve already stored and I polish every day, so I’m charmed with what he’s already given me over the years — I don’t need anything else.
But a call would still be most appreciated.
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So that’s what I eventually replied to G in NY and parked the sadness for a bit.
The run up to town was incident-free, dropping off my Darling on the way, and just before the time slot for my Covid jab, ten minutes away, but there was a huge unwelcome welcome awaiting me. About twenty people in a queue for the makeshift reception desk by the door I just came through, and all around the massive room with its photo of King Charles III and the national flags beside him was a single line of mobility scooters and chairs full of waiting patients.
There must have been over fifty people in there, I figured as I waited in line. Why the hell is there that many people when this is a booked service and everyone has a different time slot?
I get annoyed about the senseless stretching of the kindness and capacity of the NHS, but I don’t appreciate the people who think that because they are over seventy-five and have time on their hands they can just jump in and get what they want when they want — even if they are quietly waiting like good little citizens.
So my wait in line was thirty minutes (not bad), and because I lowered the average age somewhat when I walked in I felt the glares as I strolled with my official paperwork to the temporary nurse station for a sit-down and chat.
“You’re not seventy-five,” he said in jest. I replied that I had cancer etc., and he offered his comfort and consideration.
In a few moments I was gone from the room a happy bunny, but looking at the long line of chairs still full of the waiting throng I couldn’t help but laugh at them. They will be here ages yet, but I guess it’s warm and they will eventually succeed in their quest for a free jab.
My Big Sis (sister-sitter) popped in at the usual time with a big sisterly hug and another gift bag of goodies. I’m loving the kind hugs I’ve been getting recently and Big Sis’s one is one of the best.
Over the next few hours we chatted and ate our way through lunch and caught up on the show-rooms in Abingdon where all the tempting spring bargains were displayed, for her approval, in the after-Christmas change-over. She’ll be off to the Christmas displays in February, as per usual — you forget how early shops have to arrange stock for our customer satisfaction.
My Darling had got back from the café and had shopped while out and lugged in two massive bags of stuff. She was well happy getting her 10 % off (body-weight) certificate from Slimming World today, and the achievement really helped her lovely smile look really real.
False smiles lately have been nice to see but easy to see through, but her smile today was infectious.
Big Sis left us after another long chat even though several times she said she’d better be off. You know the way it is.
There was one more surprise today in that a pair of visitors I’ve missed these last few weeks were coming.
They are the pair who have been there for us — anytime, anything, just there. They had news of a house sale and progress in the divorce from his estranged wife, and were asking about when would I be able and willing to be their witness at a possible Christmas wedding.
Boy oh boy the day gets better.
We had a lovely happy chat about the fabulous news and sipped some no-Prosecco in pleasant celebration. (No-alcohol Prosecco.)
I was a tired lad by the time they left, and even after my Darling went to bed early but tired andhappy I stayed up a while and ate some of Big Sis’s treasures. I couldn’t help myself. “It’s the pills, you know.”
By midnight I received a text from upstairs asking if I was in bed yet. I replied “just coming,” and headed up on the chair-lift that has become a very natural way of getting about now. Why use your muscles when the strain can be taken away, leaving you with more energy and a quiet heart.
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Yes I did email the onco-secretaries and did get a response.
My cancer specialist nurse N has been on sick leave all week (and sadly it sounds like for the next while too) and my oncologist is off till Tuesday next. Which is the reason my questions this week were not replied to.
Next week I might now find out about my low red bloods and my PSA, and the appointments for tests and scans too maybe.
Just maybe.
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Flu jab in the other arm tomorrow and hopefully a trip out with my Darling too.
Friends are there to help you feel normal — and vice versa. I’ve felt much more normal today. Thanks everyone.
Have a great weekend.
