Post 25: My Darling
As I wander through the maze of worry on the forum, I realise I’m the luckiest man alive.
I still feel ill-equipped to reply to many of my fellow travellers—lacking experience and expertise—but I empathise and sympathise as if they were personal friends.
I remain Mr Unremarkable in my soul, and the facts I drown-in most days—I choose to overcome however I can.
Distractions help, but nothing works as well as being physically close to my bestie.
These thoughts today are about the one person who makes everything I do easier, who shrinks every worry and holds my hand in quiet support—never asking for anything in return.
——
Cancer places me the traveller, front and centre.
Every consultation, every scan, every update puts me in the spotlight. There’s no escape.
And sitting beside me, on that other uncomfortable chair, as always… is My Darling.
Carrying her own anxieties with mine about our today and our future. She sits quietly—ready. Ready for that moment when I might reach for her warm hand to steady myself.
The day we met, I held her hand and never wanted to let go.
I knew immediately she was special. There was something shared between us the moment we saw each other—something I can’t explain. It felt like invisible threads made of something indestructible had wrapped themselves around our hearts and souls.
Sounds corny, I know—but five days later, I knelt down and she said yes.
That was then—the back end of ’86. But even now, decades later, those threads are still holding.
——
This morning, My Darling kissed me goodbye as she readied herself for work.
She reminded me that my bowl of overnight fruity-bix was waiting in the fridge.
So too was the coronation chickpea sandwich—
“It’s in a waxed paper bag. Don’t forget to send me photos!”
“Yes, dear,” I mumbled as she buzzed off downstairs leaving me in the early morning darkness.
I was half asleep and didn’t hear the front door click shut behind her—but I certainly feel the solitude settle in until she’s back.
Today is her first day back at work.
After spending all of last Friday in Bay 25—not working this time, but visiting A&E… worried sick about me; it will be a test being back there today, where all that chaos happened.
I know how hard it was for her to leave me home alone today.
Honestly, I didn’t think she’d go—and here’s why:
Since I was discharged five days ago, the cardiologist’s words have been ringing in my ears:
“For the next two weeks, do not do anything strenuous.”
My Darling has interpreted that as: “You’re doing nothing, full stop. And if you do? Woe betide you.”
She’s been a strict but loving carer this week.
And if following her rules gives her the trust to go back to work—knowing my life now depends on my laziness—then so be it.
She is gone, and I’m happy for her.
If I keep to the rules, she gets to go do something normal—something other than watching over me.
Which reminds me—I’d better have that breakfast and send a photo of “me behaving angelically.”
—
Off I go, down on the stair-chair.
“Going down!” I shout—not that anyone hears me today, except Mr Vicious of course.
Remember the theme tune from the Grace Brothers department store sitcom Are You Being Served?
“Going up… da da-da da-da-dar!”
Maybe not—but it makes me smile every time the stair-chair whirs into action with me along for the ride.
“Going down… da da-da da-da-dar!”
I remember to send off the selfie with my empty breakfast bowl.
Her reply comes back with a heart emoji.
Phew. That should calm her fears—for now.
——
Today I’m in full weekend mode—not just because it is the weekend, but because no one will ring, email, or Patient Access me for at least three days.
Oh, how lovely. I can really rest.
So can My Darling. I’ll give her the biggest hug when she gets home mid-afternoon and tell her “all is well”.
I can’t wait.
——
Yesterday I tried to figure out how long my chemo would be postponed.
Right now, it’s planned as just one week—but that depends on so many variables.
I won’t be at peace with it until I know I’m strong enough for the Carboplatin. That confidence will come through a bit more blog-therapy and a proper chat with a cardiologist.
But I wasn’t sure how My Darling felt about the delay.
So, braced for a vague answer, I asked her:
“How long are you okay postponing the chemo?”
“One week,” she replied—quick, clear, firm.
“Oh… just one more extra week?” I asked.
She turned to me and gave me a look—a serious, determined one.
“No—the one week already. You need the chemo.”
I’m glad I asked.
We need to understand each other’s priorities and fears.
It’s hard when you’re focused on just getting through the day, one step at a time—when suddenly you become aware that beside your own shadow is your soulmate.
It’s not that you forget they’re there.
It’s more that you look up from the path and remember to see the world again—how it used to look before.
Before that day.
Before the clocks stopped.
Before the spotlight turned on me.
——
It’s so easy for me to be that selfish guy—caught in a personal crisis—when all along, I’m not alone.
That’s why I remind myself to walk a mile in My Darling’s shoes every single day.
I can’t solve all her worries, but I can reduce the extra ones I give her.
I appreciate every little thing My Darling does for me.
And all she gets in return is a hug, my hand, a kiss—and my undying love.
Those invisible threads are still unbreakable.
I’m still the luckiest man alive.
We travel together.
️️
