Post 175: A walk to town is a test I need to pass.
Little steps are what we need to recover our feel for confidence in ourselves. It’s not as easy as you think.
———
A new week dawns, with my heart and mind in good order to tackle anything.
I want to prove to myself that I’m not as weak as I think I am when it comes to exercising, and the first test is a walk to town and back.
Breakfast had been and gone, and Mr Vicious was up on the conservatory roof, meowing at my bedroom window to be let in — on an otherwise sunny shelf he could have been relaxing on; he often does. The sun was beaming strongly, and the clouds were puffs of occasional sheep in the deep blue sky. A perfect day for a walk.
My Darling had come down, and her head was still at her, but she started to unwind beside me and organise her phone and life on it.
Sometimes we do talk seriously about our lives and how the next chapter in my cancer unfolds, and today had pockets of future thinking. The first biggie was the real biggie — work and finance for the both of us. And because, as we’ve already found out through magnificent advice along the way, we’ve fallen through the cracks in the benefit support system, there’s nothing for us to claim — just yet.
Be that as it may, there is a benefactor who would support us, and it’s the most awkward thing to say yes to. I agreed to deal with the sensitive matter my way and see if it might mean my Darling could stay off work a while longer to look after me, with all its implications, but in the hope that she wouldn’t get anxious about leaving me alone. Alone from her, while she worked.
Time will tell — but this couple’s disease is a maddening mix of daunting health issues for the patient and all the fallout, mentally and physically, on both of you. It takes time to adjust to everything that changes; but if you don’t, you’ll go around the bend.
I made a beeline for lunch before we set off the mile or so to town, to get some energy and clear up a knob of Stilton left in the fridge from the other day. Fatty cheese is good for me, and blue one of my favourites, and with some crisps and grapes eaten as a side, I was ready to go.
We strode off, and I felt pretty good heading out, but I didn’t feel confident I could make it there and back — but that was the test.
In between breakfast and now, I had completed the “spit test” of an ongoing prostate research trial I’d signed up to. I like to help give back if I can, and this isn’t about treatment but all about patient history and my past and current lifestyle.
So I had a small bulky bag in my pocket as a lure to get me up the road, in case I gulped at the long paths ahead of me. But I was more worried about where to drop it, because of all the Red Postbox upgrades to the new-style digital type around our locality — with the ever-so-swanky new design and post-management systems in their chests. A solar panel on the cap too.
In the end, I avoided the new and found an old design box to push the test return in, but more luck than judgement.
I found the walk up ok and retrieved the prescriptions I needed for my heart’s continued support at the local pharmacy, and suggested that we pop in the pub on the way back, where I could rest and we could chat. It’s a day out after all, not just a walk for my own personal achievement.
I had an Old, and my Darling a Prosecco, and we sat and toasted better times. Better times we would have enjoyed, if it wasn’t for a couple of cackling hens in the corner of an otherwise empty Monday-afternoon saloon bar — and we cursed our luck.
The hens were not in the spring of youth but seemed to act like they were (ooo Betty! what a horrible man I am, judging those two). I couldn’t help but want to reach out for the remote to turn down their volume. They did leave eventually and didn’t ruin our pit-stop totally, but it proves that I’m becoming a grumpy old git.
We took the scenic path home along by the school and a line of oak trees shedding piles of acorns. I have never seen so many. It made it a bit tricky in places to walk over them, such was the magnitude of spent and crushed oak fruit. In fact, a wee girl strolling behind her mum’s pram slipped and fell on the tricky little suckers, just in front of us. The poor little girl looked up at me and cried while her mum picked her up and brushed her off. Bless them.
A salutary lesson for me, in any case — be careful, Mr U, keep out of the autumn troubles falling around you.
All the way home I was thinking on the few thoughts of the day, but mostly the dinner tonight. My Darling suggested an oven-baked potato and halloumi salad, which I just couldn’t wait for. I hurried in the front door and got the oven on, as instructed, and then realised not only had I made the mile and a bit each way to town, I’d had no problems and was obviously more fit than I thought.
Or was it the thought of tasty food after a beer; Who knows!?
I did sit for the rest of the night; we did relax and chat more about doing things together — more. But I now know that half my problems with physical activity are in my head, not my legs.
We chatted to Ireland again — another older sister for a catch-up — but that led to my total collapse again over Kev. I just can’t quite stop feeling the loss of such a nice guy. I know I should by now be able to face up, brave the facts, but I just can’t stop feeling he’s still there and that we both want to speak again, and again, like we used to. My faraway muse. My brother-in-law. My friend. Hell, why can’t I move on.
———
I also had a call from the lovely nurse at the Hospice, checking up on my pain-relief schedule they’d put in place with the steroids, etc. I was so happy to tell them I was out of pain and loving the big appetite I had. It’s so nice not to be on the phone to them in a funk and asking for help — so nice to be cheerful and happy and give them such a big pat on their backs. It’s them I have to thank the most, so I did.
Ping!
An email from the oncology secretaries:
“I’ll pass your concerns on about who it is you can contact, but your specialist cancer nurse N has no replacement currently while she is away for the foreseeable future.”
At least I know — and I hope Nurse N recovers well and quickly (for her sake), as she’s been a real help to me.
Lastly, a text rolled into my hand that might help my Darling and me plan a little break to the seaside. A serendipitous chat that now means I have a couple of visitors tomorrow for elevenses (vintage-car-enthusiast babysitters, perhaps), while my Darling gets her nails done. That should be fun.
———
This is post 175, and I shall continue to post until my future checks and tests are complete and the reports are explained.
The bus is now a distant memory, and the point of this blog is ending — but saying that, if I’m back on another chemo bus, I’ll have to reassess my thoughts. But I don’t want to bore and have little to say meaningfully for you or for I.
I’m longing for good news in November to set my new future in motion.
Bless you for reading.
