Post 277: More lovely messages and a big dinner.
If there’s one thing I like more than anything else it’s praise.
Back when I trotted after my Mum looking for her hand while she walked quickly over all terrain, delivering car leaflets to sections of the town and the village we lived in, or on rambles all over the South Downs attempting keeping paths open to the public, I was there looking for her hand to help me eat up the miles she led, along with a desire to get exercise as much as being paid pennies for posting a bunch of glossy paper ads. All without Dad — as usual.
Is that why I crave attention and a warm hand?
I don’t know if it was or could be, but I know that all the messages of support lately on this forum have supported me in a way that’s quite amazing and totally overwhelming at times. I’m certainly feeling your hands in mine.
The way in which my messages are heard interests me. I’m unlikely to reread anything I write once posted. I try my hardest to get it as right as possible and then let it go like pulling the plug. Never to be seen again, well, never to be seen by me.
That’s why I’m always bowled over by the replies.
Thank you.
Today I spent a lot of time writing to fellow prostate sufferers on the forum and became invested in a few. I get too involved sometimes, but when it comes down to it this is a special forum and because we are all human and on the same page, why not read and help out a fellow traveller when I can — if my finger doesn’t dance too much.
Tonight my finger is very twitchy and as I feel tired I surmise that the oramorph is part of the problem.
Because my shoulder is bad and now diagnosed as a frozen shoulder, I do need a bit more pain relief. That in turn makes my finger dance more.
What a bugger.
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Waiting for the x-ray this morning it’s easy to be both glad I’m being taken seriously by my wonderful new doctor.
But it was cancellations that brought me here today, which makes me happy for me but sad for the cancellees.
It was a two-stage x-ray, both front and from above. The sit-down one from above was really painful. But after a Quick Look by the supervisor, that was me, and I could get away home with my beautiful driver.
Her cold has been put on hold while I needed to be ferried around for these frozen shoulder appointments. My poor Darling needs more from me, but I just can’t be there for her as I’d like.
Why am I fading away so fast at the tender age of 61?
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Years ago when I was in charge of myself, unlike now, my Darling and I used to get back from snooker nights on a Wednesday to watch a late-night American series we both loved. No, it was not that dreadful series set on a couch in Boston or wherever it was by the name of Friends; it was a series called Northern Exposure.
Based around the comings and goings of a fictitious town, Cicely in Alaska, the characters were mosely comic but there was a heap of heartfelt emotional storyline to give us a good fix of happiness in an otherwise dreary time in our lives away from the tv.
Where some friends of ours were heading off to other parts of the world to find a better life, we were stuck in negative equity — and were for ten horrible years.
The struggles we had at that time were distracted by the birth of both our boys and the weekly Northern Alaskan drama. Even now the thought of going to a snowy place and living far away from certain parts of civilisation that drive me mad is a lovey thought — the only thing that would have to change is my eating habits I guess. Being a meat eater is essential to live through the tough winters that are so long, there’s little time for a summer.
The chances of that happening are nil now, but the warm feeling I have towards that kind of community is still burning brightly in my imagination.
Northern Exposure — ah, those were the days. It’s funny how the fact that the memories of having no money and eking out a living were overridden by the memories from those times that were good and fun.
The six series ran in the early to mid nineties, and with re-runs, soaked up all those early years of marriage in mid 1990 and continued throughout the decade I guess.
I was asked last week at counselling whether I was digging over old memories of times long gone more and more lately, to which I replied, “not really”.
But am I?
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We willed away the afternoon watching tv, holding hands and talking occasionally. Our youngest called us at some point and we were at our most attentive while we were on his video link, chatting over all kinds of petit things because there was no big news.
After that really nice call we rested some more and as I was still gulping the morphine I was overly tired and slept a while on the sofa with my Darling.
I was woken up with a roast dinner that was a great-looking and tasting plate of pure loveliness (see photo), which when eaten led to another period of drama on tv until I headed to bed at eight thirty. What an early evening departure that was. It’s becoming more of a regular occurrence recently, which I find irritating and harmful to our relationship. But we are going out tomorrow night for the Panto. Oh yes we are!
My shoulder is one thing but I’m getting more of the pulsing pains shooting through me, and that’s hard to take.
Will there actually be any time where I can slope off for a holiday?
It drives me mad that a dancing finger, a frozen shoulder and pulsing pains are causing me distress enough to scare me from booking a holiday.
But I am officially on benefits now because my PiP payment came in on Monday.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Good night
