I slept on it
it helped me see
That one and one
sometimes makes three
———
My Darling was going to get up early so I could stay in bed,
but I got up my usual time
and helped myself to bread.
I got out in the garden to tend
the weeds I hate —
Mummy Nature’s such a fickle friend
she helps me with a show,
But all I see is garlic wild
that I’m not allowed to grow.
———
By the time I’d done half an hour of pottering about weeding, my lower back had started to complain. I promised myself the next few minutes would be my last — and just then my Darling popped her head out of the conservatory door, gave me a big hug, and checked what I was up to.
Luckily, I’d had enough and immediately started tidying up what I’d been doing before heading indoors to remove my big safety boots and red coveralls. Then: kettle on, chair ready, mission accomplished.
My Darling looked and sounded brighter than yesterday, which cheered me no end. I didn’t encourage any discussion about treatments or future life. Instead, we stuck to bulbs and beds — daffodils Big Sis gave us, two packs, loads of spring colour.
I stayed quiet, drank my drink, and concentrated on the lovely smells here in the kitchen. She was making a cooked breakfast — rare, and very welcome. More like an early lunch, seeing as I’d already eaten a banana before tackling the unwanted unpopular wild-garlic.
She told me to rest up in the lounge and get out of her way, which I did gladly, my back needing a bit of TLC. So I trundled off to sit in front of the TV while the smells from the kitchen drifted around the house making me hungry.
When breakfast arrived and we settled down with plates on our laps, something shifted.
Instead of small talk, my Darling brought up medications and treatment cycles calmly — as if we’d been discussing them freely all along. It became a wonderful, open conversation about pain relief, timelines, and quality of life.
I could finally start piecing together what seems fair and helpful, and discard the bits that were fogging my brain.
We talked and talked until she suggested clearing the dishes, then heading to a local garden centre for a pre-pre-Christmas shop.
I drove — on the increasingly bad excuses for roads — to a garden centre we haven’t visited in years. The place had transformed: a huge building, endless rows of quality goods, and about half of it devoted to Christmas. Busy aisles, busy café, busy everything.
My Darling was in cloud nine, thinking about Christmas Day, table layouts, food. I wasn’t especially interested, but I loved seeing her smile, and the bits and bobs in the enormous plastic trolley made me laugh — as if we’d ever fill a trolley that size.
Checkout done, bits stowed in the car, and home we went — happily. We didn’t quite fill the trolly, phew!
My headspace was remarkably clear.
There are still plenty of unanswered questions, but we’re both better off than yesterday.
After unpacking the newly acquired goods and choosing a couple of mighty bakers for dinner, we grabbed a cuppa and settled down to a Christmas film, hand in hand, sipping tea.
The bulk of the day was done, and I’d had a genuinely good time. My Darling’s unexpectedly cool head had helped blow away the confusion of the initial info-dump from the oncology powwow. We both needed time — time to cry, time to process, time to just do “normal people stuff” to bring our minds back down to earth.
We are slowly getting there.
But we’re still missing the key piece of evidence: the MRI.
When that report arrives (in a few weeks), we’ll finally be in a position to choose a plan.
Right now, Ra-223 looks way ahead of Docetaxel, but it’s not over till the fat lady sings — and she hasn’t made an appearance yet.
Dinner was luuuuuvely.
We both love spuds — any kind — but a cheesy jacket with a grilled topping of more cheese and herbs is a favourite this time of year.
I had already set up the after-dinner film. I opened the Danish pastry from the garden centre and put on That Christmas (last year’s animated classic, 2024).
There was little to say. We held hands, giggled at the film, and I slowly lost the battle with my eyelids — so I called it a day.
Tomorrow we can plant out the daff bulbs before heading to our youngest’s house for a catchup. A curry will be involved, I’m told. Yippee!
So that’s that.
———
As for me, I’m ok.
I didn’t get emotional much yesterday. It was a quiet, happy day and I was more focused on my Darling.
And I’m glad to say she is well — in every sense.
Next weeks diary isn’t completely full yet, but I’ve got an ECG and my HT three-monthly belly jab,
Oh, and Monday is the health review at work.
I normally look forward to these catchups, but this one’s going to be hard.
It’ll go something like this:
I’ve been recovering well since the end of chemo, but I’ve had interesting news from oncology, the GP and the Hospice.
Hospice:
They manage my pain relief. Pain meds are stable. I’m keeping a “pain diary” and I’ve just asked for more counselling as and when it’s possible.
GP:
Investigating water retention in my legs, ankles and feet — early days. Keeping an eye on my bloods. Some liver function and red bloods are borderline.
Oncology:
Waiting on the WBMRI results. Last Thursday’s meeting wasn’t as good as I hoped. Less pushback on the cancer than wanted and expected.
What I thought was a fractured rib is actually bone mets.
Because this really hurts me, I’ll be having radiotherapy to the chest before anything else.
After that.
My options for treatment are: Ra-223 or Docetaxel (50%).
There is an option to do neither, of course.
The WBMRI probably won’t change much. In a few weeks I’ll have another oncology meeting to discuss anything new and to choose a plan if I’m ready to.
Fin.
Good night, stay safe.
