Post 231: I’m so easily frustrated; but the Christmas tree is up.
Yesterday I must have expended more energy than I thought by way of the meeting and a meal out, because I have a tired frustration — also I have a gut-feeling that’s telling me I should be doing something.
You know that feeling inside that tells you to do that thing you’ve been putting something off for too long — damn it. I know what it is too: my ancient Volvo’s MOT. But! Have I paid the insurance on it?
I’m questioning everything and it’s driving me mad.
I’ll do it later… said like the true procrastinator I am.
But the Christmas Tree is up. Our youngest had to retrieve it from the garage loft, because I’m not allowed to get up there now — too weak, damn it!
But nobody has dressed the tree yet; can’t be bothered to be honest, though a few new-decs have found their way onto it courtesy of the garden centre’s Christmas extravaganza today.
The off white tree lights are tied onto the branches and it’s automatically halfway trimmed and therefore not looking too shabby anyway. “Leave it for the kids on Christmas Eve,” I said, but judging by the look I received from Mrs U, I’m guessing that’s not what’s going to happen.
My Darling chose to cook me a hot breakfast this morning. Nice. A special treat, and because she’ll be away most of the day with her pals for the usual Friday fare up town, having me fed with something more substantial means I won’t neglect myself — or more likely just eat cakes and biscuits.
“Who, me?”
“I don’t believe it!” (As someone used to often say).
She was bumbling around and shouted up that she’s “just going to de-ice the cat,” or that’s what I thought she said — maybe, on reflection, it was the car that was iced up.
Anyhoo, I was still digesting the egg and beans on toast, sipping the decaf black tea in my china mug with the bright red BSA Bantam on it, when I received a text from her:
{defrosting the car in sleeppers no coat then just drove (to waxing) didn’t give it a thought xxx}
Initially, this made me chuckle, but then it worried me. And for those of you not versed in my good lady’s texting style, she had been out de-icing the car (not the cat) in her slippers, without a coat on, when she jumped in and shot off to waxing (4 miles up the road) without thinking.
Well, as you could imagine, my OCD law-abiding self suddenly escaped its cage! All I was worried about was her safety and making sure her heels were in the slippers. She has a habit of crushing the bejesus out of the heel part of the shoe.
So I returned a text — part humorous, part scolding — and hoped her newly waxed self made it home without a scratch.
A little while later my Darling’s newly waxed giggling body, with her little cold hands, arrived in my bedroom to share the hilarity of the morning’s activities with the offending slippers. What a plonker, bless her.
At least I was able to laugh with her, warm her sweet little fingers, and re-cage my alter ego.
While my Darling prepared herself for the next outing, I got my tight blue compression stockings on and decided to relieve the MOT tension in my full (but still tense) belly and turn the computer on for a double check of insurance status and to find last year’s MOT certificate. That’s where it all went wrong. I was fully insured thankfully but as for the MOT…
My Darling headed out for the second time with a kiss and a swoosh of mild lateness — this time appropriately attired with regulation driving shoes — and she headed off to town and the chatting and eating in friendly company in the usual café with the usual crew.
I, however, just got in a worse frustration, with things one by one, first becoming a problem, then solving it, then finding another problem — on and on, in a deeper mood of frustration and anger.
It’s like I don’t know how to behave anymore. My pressure relief valve is stuck and the whole of me is going to go up in smoke over a trivial thing that is easily overcome — if only I relaxed and thought about it for a couple of minutes.
Bloody hell, where’s the MOT cert?
In the end, who cares about the bloody piece of paper? I’ll get one with the new MOT, if it passes, next Wednesday — now that I’ve booked it up obviously. Kerching! Game over.
I switched the Mac Mini off along with the screen and closed the door on the room I call my office and others call a right mess, and went slowly downstairs on the stair-chair.
Let’s move on, relax, and watch some TV. What can go wrong?
Well, I didn’t reckon on my mind relapsing into an emotional wreck.
It was all going well. I’d found some cake and biscuits for midday snacks — as required by a sweet-toothed kid of the sixties — and settled to watch a few too many episodes of various K-Dramas.
Mr Vicious, who’s been ever more clingy and lap-catty lately, was on my lap. Yes, it’s cold outside but he’s got a fur coat on, hasn’t he. He’s being a baby.
Anyway, he was sleeping away and I was going into a bit of self-reflection. I ended up having thoughts about how uncomfortable last night’s sleep was and how many bruises and aches I had on top of the usual moans and groans, when an awful smell arose from said cat. He looked up at me like I was looking down at him — very suspiciously.
On the principle that once might be an accident, I forgave him, but after the third or fourth time he was flicked off my lap and away from my nose, unceremoniously.
I left him to his flatulent backside and I munched on a few celebratory biscuits. Yum yum yum.
I settled in the comfy seat with my feet up on the stool and as I devoured many storylines via the subtitles I love so much.
And at one point I reached total emotional meltdown while a somewhat romantic scene unfolded on that enormous TV. I couldn’t get a tissue quick enough and the tears rolled down rather like the raindrops on the window beside me. Unstoppable but pretty in their own way.
Clearly I’m not myself, and maybe the pains I’m suffering in bed added to the weariness over choosing — rightly or wrongly — to stay away from treatment for a while — maybe it’s that.
I’m not willing to go down the chemo route now, maybe ever. My body has told me all I wanted to know about Carboplatin. It was horrendous at times, but I got through five of the six cycles.
I’m still drowsy and have pains, so what benefit was it to me?
Who knows? It’s not easy to quantify. Either way, I have this freedom for three months, to do as I like.
To do as I like…
Today that’s limited to laughing with my Darling, pacing up and down in frustration over a piece of paper due to my appalling filing system, crying in front of a TV, moaning about pains all over my back and shoulders while the cat farts on my lap.
Terrific.
What a start to Day 1 of freedom.
However, I must remember to add positives to the list of Mr U’s moaning-and-groaning. For instance, the new regime of pills-not-needles (for my anticoagulation) and the lack of interference from clinics and doctors — that’s just amazing and I should be very grateful.
That aught to put a smile on my face…
But the feeling of sadness is deeper than the superficial happier day-to-day stuff.
I don’t want to live in pain. I don’t want my quality of life to be sitting at home 95% of the time (like it has been for the last 13 weeks since my last chemo).
I want more.
———
Talking of the anticoagulant Apixaban, and picking myself up from the morbid spiral I was just in, I have to mention today’s prescription nightmare.
I’d asked, via the NHS app yesterday, for some prescribed meds that I need, and Apixaban was one of them. Late this afternoon I checked the status of my order. Two of the medicines were approved but not the Apixaban — oh crap, here we go again.
I realise there’s been no letter to the doctor from my oncologist to inform him of the medication change, it’s too soon, but since it’s already on my list of prescribed medications why the hell can’t it be approved?
Grrrrrr.
Instantly I’m in angry mode again. My mood swings like the grandmother clock’s long brass pendulum upstairs on the landing.
More self-advocacy I guess.
So I wrote an email concerning a concerned me who can’t understand why I can’t have my Apixaban pills, and fired it off into the ether. But on a Friday evening, as it is, it will stay in the ether until Monday morning.
But I’m happy now. I’ve said my piece. It’ll all work out soon; I hope.
———
My Darling came home just before another storm cloud opened up and washed my rooftop solar panels. She had a great time and brought back shopping — as if we need more. I sure we already have enough food to last till Christmas.
Gone are the days when our cupboard (and freezer) was bare.
Happy days.
After a spell watching some thrillers on ITV catch-up, I was handed a beautiful-smelling yellow Thai curry which slipped down a treat, followed by the last remnants of the rhubarb pie with lashings of custard. It was heaven.
We sat holding hands and watching stuff on TV until our eyes started to close. It was only 8:30pm but late enough for one that has to get up at 3:15am, so I got back on my favourite chair — the stair-chair — and headed back upstairs slowly to the cold uncomfortable bed and kissed my Darling goodnight.
Good night everyone.
