Post 181: Surprise, surprise.
The cold mist feels refreshing to me
I feel alive and well and free,
It’s not that I’ve been out of sorts,
But it does remind me of all my faults.
———
Today’s mission, if we should like to follow it through, is to surprise my Goddaughter with a visit from us — to spectate at her first game of the season and cheer her on.
I was doing the usual routine and had already reached the breakfast bit, so I could take the steroid. Yes, just one a day now — I’m weaning off nicely. Just three pills left and then I’m on my own.
When I think back to the mess I was in nearly three weeks ago, I really do wonder where all that pain’s gone. I also can’t believe that the two pills that were changed, or added, have made such a difference. I’ve had an unnaturally big appetite lately, which must be the steroids — I’m eating like a pig. A happy, hungry pig.
I checked the bus app and the times for the local flyer, so just after every hour on a Sunday timetable will get us to the county town in time for the long walk to the rugby club.
My Darling stayed in bed, nursing a recurring sciatic pain in her right upper leg. I got the kettle on and made her a black coffee, bringing it up with all the sympathy I could muster in this rare but necessary role reversal. My poor Darling has suffered many bouts of sciatica — that wicked nerve pain that makes the body cry out. So, Nurse Mr U is in charge today, and it helps me to give something back after all she’s contended with from me.
We had a little chat while the pills did their magic, and the plan to bus to town was still on. I bought the online duo rover tickets again and, at the appropriate time, we headed out to the bus stop in the very fresh morning air.
On the short walk down the road, our faces were peppered with cold mist. Looking up, there were no clouds or sunshine, just murk. The air was cool and thick — full of tiny globules of water hanging in the stillness. It felt refreshing, but I wondered if I’d get cold standing at the pitch side. I’m such a weakling in the cold. You’ll be fine Mr U.
Jumping on the Sunday bus, we chose the downstairs seats so I didn’t have to pull myself up the stairs of this brand-new double-decker. I was happy, settled, and excited with our uncle-and-auntie quest today.
The world spun past the window, passengers hopping on and off, while my Darling and I chatted. I started telling her how I’ve been successful in keeping down the urge to self-advocate on the topic of my health — and how it was essential that I did — when suddenly all my panic buttons were pushed. Pushed hard. And now I was in a funk.
OMG.
I suddenly, inexplicably, started to rise to all my worries and became emotionally unstable. Tears gathered, ready to fall, while I ranted about how isolated I feel and how terrible it is that I can’t assess myself or have answers immediately to calm my fears.
Do I need more treatment? When’s my next blood check? Why am I not being scanned? It’s been five weeks since the last chemo.
I just exploded into the wreck I used to be every Monday, when the weekend’s free time was spent overanalysing my data and progress.
My Darling — the voice of reason — handled me back down to earth with her usual gentle kindness. She’s seen it all before, and I knew I could do nothing about the data anyway, so I calmed down, held her hand tighter, and gave her a massive, grateful kiss and hug. Even though we were on the bus, it felt like we were alone — alone with our thoughts and frustrations on this winding cancer pathway.
Soon we were back on track and I could again watch the world passing by the window.
At our destination, we jumped off the bus in the middle of town and, as I knew the way through to the old part of town, I took my Darling’s hand and made tracks. A quick map check showed 1.4 miles — just within my ever-increasing walking range. I can do this.
To be honest, it was a little tough — the slight inclines tested us both — but as soon as we saw the great white goalposts and the players warming up, we were chuffed to have arrived. I spotted my brother with his little Yorkie, Lulu, and his back to us. This was going to be easy.
On the pitch, the pink-shirted team — my niece’s team — were warming up, too. The game was official, being recorded with audio (for the officials) and video for someones college project. The whistle blew — and they were playing.
I grabbed my brother from behind and gave him a big manly hug, surprising the life out of him. It was all smiles when he saw my Darling, too. We caught up, keeping an eye on the game as we chatted.
The sun broke through the clouds as we watched. My coat became too much as the temperature rose and the golden sun bathed us in autumn glory. This was a great idea, no mistakes. My week of going out was topped by this unexpectedly beautiful day I’d thought may never happen.
One try after another gave the home side the edge, and my niece’s input was incredible. I was cheering, oohing, and aahing like an old fan. At half-time, with the score at 45–0, the result was obvious — but there was still another half to enjoy.
Our niece spotted us during the break and ran right across the pitch to hug us and thank us for coming. We were delighted and loved her reaction. I’ll store those smiles for later.
A consolation try came for the opposition, and the game ended with both teams lining up for handshakes and an avenue of friendly appreciation — a proper finish to a fantastic game.
Little Bro dropped us back in town after the players had changed, eaten, and had their group chat to hand out awards. Our niece got a special mention — she was chuffed to bits.
After Little Bro dropped us back in town, we found a sunny seat on a busy street and watched the stream of cars and people rushing by while we had lunch — mainly fruit, but with a pill or two, too. We stayed there for ages, just being. Resting. Watching. Reminiscing.
Feeling happy that we’d made the effort to do something different and exciting. Pushing myself to keep my recovery going.
I’m returning slowly. I will continue to rise.
With both my Big Sis and Little Bro in my sights this last week, I realise how important they are to me. I don’t tell them enough. I’ll have try to do better.
My thoughts this week will be on self-advocacy — but I’ll try to pace myself. Meanwhile, my Darling’s eyes are on the four Christmas cakes she plans to bake for us and the boys, so I’d better help out as much as I can (as I usually do), especially with the job she hates most: lining the baking tins.
It just so happens I love lining tins — my OCD kicks in, and the perfect lined tin is my goal every time. Silly, I know, but that’s just the way I’m wired.
A new week is a new chance to grow.
Have a good week — I intend to.
