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It’s raining hard this afternoon as the sun sets on a beautiful day.
It should be a hip hip hurrah,
But of all the feelings I have seen,
Pain is the King and tears are his Queen.
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I’ve not often spoken about how long it takes me to write a blog post, but sometimes it’s well over three hours — you know the ones I mean.
Placing one word in front of another can feel less like writing and more like bleeding — not a tidy cranial reaction to life, but something leaking straight out of the senses. It’s not always “easy work.”
Today I didn’t want to write about this, but that is what comes out…
I’m struggling with my right-hand second finger..
Not only is it a crazy dancing fool, but it’s a worrying development in the list of things I’m having to overcome.
There’s no workaround when it’s the “Strictly Fingers” (not Dancing) acting up while I “work” on the blog.
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Tissues for tears for “chesty box” repairs.
Did your mum call the rib area under your nose the “chesty box”?
Mine did, bless her.
My mum and dad weren’t exactly present in parenting or scooping, but I loved them — faults and all.
Maybe the steel box I’m having made, arriving in our home tomorrow, has put a bit too much icing on today’s cake.
Perhaps the idea of a final place for my weary bones is a step too far for most, but I’ve had over three years to think about it. It’s part of my secret plan — only ye know about it, for now.
Tonight I might feel black, but I’ll be jumping tomorrow morning. I promise.
Do you have a secret plan for your own final end?
Whether full-body or a bag of ashes — it’s never too late.
Mine is a local barn-shaped metal box. I’m lucky to know exactly what I want. It’s partly the engineer in me that needs a metal case, but also something inspired by a traditional wooden building I’ve loved all my life. A shape that speaks of home every time I see it.
A metallic version of home — for here, and after.
It’s beautiful.
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Radiotherapy can be summed up with my roll-out message to folks today, repeated between the peach marks below.
“So the one shot of Radiotherapy has been done, and the less said about it the better.
I had no idea what was going on any of the time.
The radiotherapy itself is impossible to feel, but occasionally the machine moves and makes noises — not many, but enough.
The 20 minutes it should have been was more like 40–45 painful minutes.
It was continual pain holding the pose they needed: one arm over my head, keeping as still as possible. (Setting up, I suppose — but I felt like a piece of plastic being positioned wrong, tested, moved again, up off the bed, back on it, pushed and nudged millimetre by millimetre till they finally stopped pushing and left me to the bleeps and whirrs.)
I kept asking when it was over; one reply was ‘just another 10 mins’.
I was ready to escape the bloody place.
I didn’t enjoy it — I guess you’re not meant to. Let’s hope it works.
My first and last experience of radiotherapy, with any luck.”
For those who’ve already read that — sorry you had to read it again.
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My dancing finger is practising its usual rhythm, and I worry it’s a sign of more to come. But while I can write, I will write. It’s good exercise for my digits — ha ha ha.
I slept well this afternoon for three hours, without a care in the world. Then I woke in a sweat and had to change my t-shirt and laid down beach towels, as if I’d been swimming.
Right ho — I don’t think so.
Anyway, tiredness is the usual side effect of any cancer treatment, and this is no different.
My bowels — which I promised updates on — have been happy and cooperative today. Thanks to three Laxido a day and senna at night, things are moving nicely. That’s another bit of good news.
I’m going to cram a few K-dramas in before I crash, and finish one I’ve really been enjoying.
It’s hard to see the end coming as you near the end…
— gotcha ha ha ha. But in this case, I’ll just start another series.
Good night.
