Post 418: The Realisation…
The U3A is a national organisation offering daytime (evening) classes for those who are no longer full-time workers.
In my case—and I bet you’re hoping it might help—I’m going to sample a Creative Writing group next Monday.
As I’ve told you before, I’ve enjoyed a career, and indeed a lifetime, avoiding books, words and writing. That said, I have to admit that this blog is perhaps the only thing I’ve ever done that constitutes real writing and real fun and interest. Personally, I think it’s more like an outpouring of my soul, helping me keep my head straight.
Anyway, the U3A might be as close to school as I’ve ever been, and I want to give it a go.
As for this local U3A community, I imagine it’s quite petite, but I’m happy to give it a try.
There’s some homework, though.
Yes, before I’ve even met them, I’ve been asked to write a story of 400 words or fewer, starting with a given sentence.
Well, I started and finished it today, and I feel that the exercise has, if nothing else, made me think about the weight of words and their ability to cut things down, simplify and sharpen meaning.
I’ll publish my homework here on Tuesday. Hard cheese.
Until then, I’ll keep it under wraps.
With my mind full of medical possibilities and concerns since my spell in a Hospital recently, I’ve been careful not to voice too much of how I’m feeling while my Darling is so low.
There’s only so much a person can take when it comes to a contest of who is the most vulnerable or needy.
She isn’t well.
She hasn’t taken anything for her cold and rarely even gets a blocked nose so it’s very unusual to see her down.
But talking about me for a moment, I’ve realised there’s a fight going on inside me, and I’m not really aware of the seriousness or consequences of it.
Why shouldn’t I lean on my cancer? When the old phrase is lettered, How are you? It’s time to be brave and honest isn’t it..
Well… for the same reason it’s always there and always wins the illness trump-card competition, it’s not easy to bring into light conversations.
But because I don’t often shout about it, I’d like to come clean, especially about my heart.
It has been steadily getting worse for some time, but rarely shows its true nature.
So when, at the weekend, I ended up being prescribed water tablets, I was also told that my heart needs help.
It’s simply not as strong as it once was, and when all is said and done, I need to take better care of it. Especially now I’ve had a heart attack. An attack of the heart, a heart attack.
But it wasn’t until I got home after those 400 miles that my Darling noticed the difference in my legs after just two days on the tablets.
Now that’s a real change.
I’m flattered, happy and worried all at the same time that this escalation may really be here.
If that’s true, then I suppose the other bits must be true as well.
The leaky valves are leaking more, and breathlessness is going to be a bigger part of my future.
I can’t stop it happening.
In truth, it’s already here.
Wake up and smell the decaf, Mr U.
But it’s not just the heart—it’s the ribs too.
My sternum is very sensitive to touch now, and when I asked whether treatment similar to what I had previously for the painful ribs on my left side might be possible, I was told directly that radiotherapy would only be considered as a last resort.
Pain relief, apparently, will be the preferred treatment for this pain. What a pain.
Well, as you can imagine, I was gobsmacked.
But I kept it in.
It’s only you that I’m telling.
Only you who know how scary I find that statement.
It’s a naked description of my condition, rare and direct as it comes.
Whooomphff!
I can hear all too clearly the wind coming out of my sails…
Vouchers and dressing up are among the best things in the world for cheering the cockles, so here’s a good one.
I’ve been encouraging my Darling for some time now to use a couple of lovely vouchers we have for fancy meals in fancy restaurants.
This Sunday we’re off for a swanky Sunday roast.
It’s a chance to dress up and, even if we’re the only people there trying to look like extras from some television rags-to-riches programme—though we’d definitely be the rags—I’m very much looking forward to it.
The dinner, will be fabulous of course, but even more importantly the company.
Today was also my second day back at work, and the situation is wonderful.
Although nobody is overseeing me yet, and I haven’t really put my abilities to the test, it feels like progress.
At the moment, I’m typing handwritten notes into printed setup sheets for jobs on the machines I used to work on.
I’m in heaven doing it.
The only challenge is deciphering some of the handwriting.
I’m sure that will improve, and the feedback process will make things better all round.
So there it is.
The good and the bad that pass through my mind.
Until next time.
Good night.
Take care.
