Post 229: The last post or the last bus; either way .
I went straight to sleep two hours ago, and when I woke just now I really thought it was morning — but it’s not quite midnight.
I have a way to go yet, so I’ll try and write a line or two before I fall back to sleep.
I hope I don’t wake my Darling, who needs this sleep more than most and really could do with the best sleep for ages.
She chased me off to bed early for me to get some good rest for tomorrow’s meeting.
I don’t know that it matters if I’m a zombie or not; it might even help lower my threshold or tolerance of stupidity and BS. Saying that doesn’t mean that’s what I’m expecting — far from it. I expect a clinical report on my condition and the reasoning for suggested medication.
In fact, apart from the WB-MRI scan, everything is a known, so I could just make a choice and jump on one of two buses already waiting for me.
The fact that I’ve not made my mind up is the biggest problem facing today’s meeting at 11am. Even then, it’s not a problem — it’s a choice.
I asked my Darling this afternoon as we slumbered watching TV. I was struggling to keep my eyes open most of the time — and that’s over half the day I’m drowsy. How can you say that’s life?
I’m not even on much pain relief, only the prescribed pills, currently without the extra oramorph.
That’s another thing I should mention — the drowsiness I get every day. But I was going to talk for a moment about how my Darling’s coping with this meeting looming large ahead of us, in less than 12 hours. She replied firmly and concisely with all the questions I might need, when I asked her how she is about this meeting, and then she moved on and changed the subject.
Gone are the days where my Darling shrank back out of sight waiting quietly for the end, for the talking to stop, for a drive home to safety.
She’s well versed in all my possibilities and is right there beside me, looking for an opportunity to sink her fangs into a piece of the oncologist if necessary — in a helpful way, not to kill off any and every dialogue. She is a modern woman standing solidly beside her man — as strong as her man, or maybe stronger.
So she sleeps while I dance and clatter along the keyboard as per usual, reminded that this morning’s meeting is anything but run of the mill.
———
The pain that greeted me most mornings isn’t there yet; maybe the total sitting rest these last few days has helped — I really hope so. But I can’t keep that up.
My numb left hand is not helping my thoughts get onto the page, so I’ll rub the offending bits of me that are failing due to one or other situation, and return stronger later.
It’s not long and the blood is circulating again as it should be.
The circulation hasn’t been the same since the HT (Hormone Therapy). In fact, the blood flow to the nether regions would be a great distraction tonight — ha ha ha.
Our love life changed overnight when HT came to town and shot down any thoughts of romance by the dreadful use of the disappearing penis and the blood-flow bypass.
Gone went any and all romantic fidgeting between us, in a flash.
That’s why it’s called a couples disease and leads to the single most common problem: sex — leading to every conceivable horrid marital problem and outcome.
I’m left with thoughts of what life was like when blood flowed invisibly to aid sexual proclivities.
At least I have my memories — which can’t be taken away by side effects of chemo, like everything else has.
This dozing all day is rotten.
Even when I make an effort to go out, I end up even more tired.
It’s the cycle of sleepiness that comes with cancer and its treatments that stifles “quality of life”. There’s little I can do.
I don’t fight it anymore; I let myself fall into its clutches and hope that there’s a dreamy happy ending.
———
I’m awake again — and having some sort of recollection of blood flow and a seductive coupling which fades far too fast with a depressingly familiar feeling now I’m fully awake.
Damn this crappy side effect of my lifelong cancer…
———
As reality bites, the thoughts slide inexorably away back to where they came from.
It feels like everyone else in the world knows my limitations and are sniggering behind their seemingly apologetic hands — I’m on my own again, twiddling my thumbs while they are all okay with their fantastic lives.
“I’m coming” — now a phrase I can only use to suggest I’m running late.
———
So far I haven’t got remotely close to explaining how I feel.
At this moment I’m calm and so relaxed about what might be in store for us.
I believe there is no magic bullet to find, nor will there be great detail. Why, you might think? Well, it’s because the WB-MRI is the only thing that is unknown — but saying that, I don’t feel like much has changed inside me since the chemo ended 13 weeks ago.
So therefore I’m calm and have no real worries for myself or the family.
Let’s hope that’s the case and there can be a relaxed period over Christmas for everyone to have some rest. That would be great, especially for my Darling, who’s not as relaxed as me.
———
Our great friends brought us back from France some mushrooms. They were grown in huge hand-carved caves hewn out of the local sandstone.
This meant that I could enjoy a stroganoff tonight, thanks to my Darling, and wow it was wonderful.
Later, when the mushrooms had gone down, I was given another treat — this time from the bakery in the shape of a rhubarb pie. Oh my! That was delish!
I’ve left some pie for tomorrow when we get home from the meeting.
Something to look forward to.
So good night all that are here with me at this intersection in my life plan.
What can go wrong, eh?
Rest easy and have a great day — and we will too.
PS
I emailed the oncology team again today and asked politely again what the situation was with my right hand side in reference to the WB-MRI but I haven’t heard back.
Perhaps tomorrow at the meeting we can discuss the issues regarding communication with my team.
And ask about the random answers picked out of a hat on those emails yesterday.
Good night.
