Post 281: Honesty, dozing and a cheese and onion panini.
A text came in today from a kindly soul who deserved better than my all-guns-blazing reply. She had only asked how I was doing in a very friendly way that was without nosiness and full of kindness, but as I was entertaining at the time (and on the loo too), I had little time for a kind reply and just gave her the honest truth — I’m struggling.
In some circumstances, a reply as honest as that is perfectly fine, but I could have saved an answer like that for doctors and siblings.
Talking of siblings, my Brother-in-law and Big Sis arrived at one pm to take me out for lunch. I was really excited and ran around in the morning sweeping the kitchen floor and moving things about where they really belong. I put the overfilled recycling box of trash out and felt good to be useful for a change.
Although, compared to my old self, I did very little, I had worn myself out badly. Where had my strength gone? Is it fair that my Darling does everything for me now? Is it easy to take that I’m a waste of space in the household now? Why am I getting emotional over a load of recycling and a handful of cat hairs and crumbs?
There goes the screen again. I had a feeling I’d shed a few tears writing this post, or perhaps more of a fear.
Anyway, big sis arrived with a few cuddles and warm greetings, I found some water for the beautiful tulips and, in return, gave Big Sis back her question-mark-shaped water bottle I borrowed, and a ladies’ Christmas scarf she left when she left us on Christmas Day. I also dealt with another filled to the brim gift bag then led the way out through the big red front door and away from home to town.
We used their car as I’m still not driving, due mostly to the stiff and painful neck I’m trying to get over.
Off to town we headed with an Audi pit-crew plushie new to the car but excitedly shown tome by my sister who was relegated to the back, telling me all about what they’d done lately — I think she was as excited to see me as I was to see her.
We parked up in a blue bay (I must stop saying that, it’s not right and sounds like I’m a cut above everyone else now, which I’m not), then headed the left-hand loop to the Main Street of shops.
I had a plan and I hadn’t shared it, so I was being a bit of a tease in my directions to minor destinations before sitting down for a cuppa.
The first was posting a self-paid letter into the red sentinel by the bus stops, which indicated that my post would stay there until 9am Monday. Two days won’t hurt the letter, and in any case, there’s nothing I can do to speed up the process.
From there I took us to an opticians a hundred yards away, but on the way I was getting a chill breeze down my neck and realised I hadn’t got my scarf on, which must have dropped on the ground when I got out of the car. So I dragged them back to the said parking spot walking the right-hand loop to find nothing inside the car or around it.
Bugger!
Oh well, we tried. Now let’s go back to the opticians for a look around.
(So many puns available here, but I’m not feeling them right now, sorry.)
All the assistants were busy, so we all three casually tried on a few pairs and giggled a lot over the colour or shape of the test frames we tried on. Eventually, we were asked if we needed help, which was in the affirmative.
I said I hadn’t had a test here or anywhere else for a while, but here’s the last prescription sheet and all I want is a pair like this, holding a grey pair of Pumas with the bi-focal lenses, please.
Oh dear, she says, this prescription is six months out of date. I can’t help you, but I can book you in for a test. What’s your date of birth?
After telling her, she continued with, that’s good because as you’re over sixty — it’s free.
I couldn’t argue because her computer system would not work with an out-of-date prescription. But to cut a long story short, we left the shop with an appointment for me on Monday to pop back and have my eyes examined.
At least then I’ll order some new glasses. It’s vanity that leads me to want new glasses when I have perfectly good ones on my nose already, but there you have it. I may as well spend the kids inheritance.
We were heading for the café when a neighbour I haven’t seen or talked to in months bumped into us, and with an awkward “how are you?”, he explained he knew about the… you know… the illness…
“Oh, the prostate cancer,” I boomed, a little too loudly for everyone, making us all feel a bit more awkward.
We caught up, and as I was getting cold and the words had dried up, we left happily to cross the road to the café… but not before another short stop. Ha ha.
This time it was a jeweller’s, and I had the simple question, which was, can you clean this? — and handed her my gold neck-chain Mum had bought me that was not looking its best.
She said, of course we can, come back Monday, that’ll be £15 of your finest.
I coughed and swallowed and replied, oh.
Have you got any DIY jobbies?
She said yes, and showed me what I then bought for £9.50, and which would be able to do many cleaning duties.
I left happy that all was now well and nothing could stop us from going over the road to the café out of the cold wind.
We enjoyed a lovely chat and light lunch, and I think we deserved it after all the walking to and fro. Not really very far, but it seemed like we had earned a morsel or two.
The panini went down a treat, and it wasn’t long before the waitresses wanted our table, so we took the chat home to the kitchen, not before being assaulted by ear and brown-nosing by Mr Vicious, who was waiting for us and thought, as usual, that it was dinner time. Tough luck, sunshine — you’ll have to wait. Ha ha.
We chatted over more cups of tea and coffee until my Darling, who had been sleeping off the early morning shift, came down and made her usual splash as she dived head-first into the conversations.
Holidays, families, wedding dresses and all sorts were carefully picked over, and after a lovely Turkish delivery-in, we eventually wore out the words and smiles, and I had succumbed to a Mr U doze as I sat in my chair.
I’m so rude to sleep mid-conversation, but I was absolutely cream-crackered.
I did offer and receive big hugs as Big Sis disappeared into the misty darkness, like it was a scene from a 70’s horror movie.
Goodbye, see you soon, drive carefully.
Good night all
PS
The letter was a reply for of a NHS Cancer Care Review of my feeling so far about how well or badly it went. The whole process would be better served if it was answered in person so the true feeling could be ascertained. My cancer care locally has been I school report style, Great potential but failing to reach it.
The other thing is that I’ve realised I’m entering the 4th phase of life: Being cared for.
Mr U.
