Post 429: Sons for Sunday — What a Lovely Day
It seems the crutch I’ve relied on so much, the MacMillan Prostate Cancer Forum, which helped me understand better all the responsibilities I had to myself and others, and was a place where I could find support and eventually support others, is something I had been working around without asking myself whether I could learn something or give something back to someone lately.
I’ve realised that I’ve been very busy with many time-consuming things of my own that, positively or negatively, that affected my daily hours so much that I feel guilty for not reading some writers’ comments and calls for help.
But to be honest, I’m pulling through some of my own but some time has to free up soon. I love the forum family and, like a wayward child, I will be back.
It’s only now you’ll realise since I’ve not been keeping up to date with life outside my little sphere, and after all your positive feedback and love sent to me, with the new pills making my life spin on its axis - in a good way this time, that I woke without any idea it was Father’s Day.
And firstly, I hope all the dads out there had as good a day as me?
It started with innocent arrangements for a Halfords battery on the dot of 10am and by 11 I was ready for a shoulder massage after trying my best to arrange a purchase and pick-up.
It was like trying to pull hens’ teeth but, on the stroke of eleven, my eldest rang in a panic.
Fab, I thought.
Well, I don’t mean fab, but fab because I had a distraction after that insane series of calls for a humble Classic Mini battery.
But my eldest charged in with a “Happy Father’s Day, Daddio.”
Music to my ears, I told him.
To which he replied about how
“I had to beat my wife’s greeting to you that she had just texted,” “ahead, I might add, of her own daddy”.
“OK,” I said, “that’s no problem because I haven’t read her text yet, so you are the winner”
“Great,” he replied and went on, a little calmer now he’d scored a point in the funny but true daily point-gathering we all do from time to time, scoring off one and other.
“So, what’s planned? Oh yes, you won’t get your present till tomorrow as I forgot to get it wrapped for you — those bluish rainbow bags Mum likes so much.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something and probably wrap it in the gift bags from my birthday and get you off the hook.” I replied, laughing.
Ha ha.
And after that stupid, simple giggle about a forgotten gift bag and a race to wish me a Happy Father’s Day, the excited call stepped down a notch and I started to pull all the info “we” (the royal we) needed for next week’s visit for the wedding of the year.
That reminds me, I must keep texting Big Sis this week, trying to keep her from her anxieties leading up to her eldest’s wedding.
Anyway, I found out the necessary details about our eldest and his wife’s schedule for next weekend. My Darling will be pleased.
This done, he returned to the present, which he hoped would be a better book about writing a book from a blog. Better than the last one, which was more of a workbook.
It sounded intriguing.
It may help with direction, which I’m sadly lacking during the last three weeks when my flame of inspiration about the self-written book went out.
This gift might help me re-focus.
We had a great catch-up and I said lastly to him to choose an air conditioner for their room for the weekend which would suit cooling them during the heatwave this week.
Bye then, love yers.
Ping! Gone.
The day was now looking good.
Although the knackered battery from the Classic Mini, which is in the back of my Darling’s car and incidentally slowed her usually quick drive to work in the wee small hours due to this “precious” cargo, is now in the wrong place.
But it’s never going to get the 25 miles to our youngest today so I’ll get that recycled another time.
Time was running on and, although the king was fed, I still hadn’t had anything but pills to fill me.
Mr Vicious is getting older, as I keep saying, but now I really think he’s adapting quickly to his new era of life.
He may not be the Mr Vicious of old, but he’s more manageable.
Either that or we’ve been managed by him.
So Plan A had turned into Plan B, but the battery would arrive in the car with my youngest, his fiancée plus one, but no doggy Byron.
He was staying in the cool of their estuary-front home.
A wise decision.
That caused Plan C.
Shall we eat out? If so, where?
To that I said, “It’s now after midday and there won’t be a great choice, but it’s a great idea.”
Mum can get home at 2:30, slip into something cool and gorgeous and we’ll go.
Sorted.
So where shall we go?
After playing the driving-along chat about this and that possibility, we landed on a special out-of-the-way pub that would keep the kitchen open if we pre-ordered, now.
Fantastic.
We all got our orders in and booked up, so we were sorted for Daddy’s Day lunch. One for me and another for a daddy-to-be.
Everything went to plan and a car full of light drinkers went to the pub.
The only one who could do with a drink was driving, but his bonus was he got to drive Mummy’s new car again.
That made his day a little better.
By the time I struggled manfully through my kid’s plate of mac and cheese with garlic bread on the side and spicy cauliflower bites with dips on the side of that, we adjourned to the garden area where we were alone and very comfortable.
The chatter about babies flowed crisply around all bases, then descended into blood-fest tales of Mummy’s two boys and how it was they came to be, in all the gory details obviously.
It’s true, but is it really the best talk for a nervous mum-to-be trying to get to grips with all the things that might just be in that birth plan?
“What birth plan?” Mum-to-be asked.
And with that, a 33-year-old NHS system for guiding new mums was explained.
The reply from a modern mum was, “Really? They did all that for you?”
“And more. We get an hour-and-a-half free online introduction, hosted at top speed, to get you a quickly packed one-off programme, after which everything is charged for.”
We gulped a few times and wondered whether this modern age has made things worse and much less personalised. Absolutely no build up of thrust with nurses you’re gonna meet along the way.
Our build-up was calm and free and this new way is:
“Oh, you’re pregnant, that’s so lovely. Here are the websites and free videos and links. What’s your email address?”
No, to me that’s a bit off, but what can you do?
We wish we lived closer.
We could help more.
They will need help.
The end of November will be around so fast.
We all ate ice cream and sipped our cordials, and my ale of course — purely medicinal.
Then we headed home for Plan D.
My youngest had been fed and watered and now pays back Daddio in spades.
Firstly there were outside jobs, a bush trimming and a creeper cut-back.
That done, there was another ice cream and plenty of water whilst the chatter the ladies were having was a light, happy affair as the late afternoon heat rolled on.
Then there were the inside jobs.
Less taxing on the energy levels and more cranial, taxing the use of clicks, Wi-Fi (who’d have thought?) and double-sided printing (whoop-whoop!).
This, for a youngster, was a doddle and got the job done.
Better still, I could print my blog (for useful purposes in the background research for the book), from Post 1 to Post 188, which is the chemo times — those horrible times — and I could print from my bed using the amazing Wi-Fi 
then put the double-sided prints in folders inside clear sleeves later.
Bliss.
So who’s filling up the paper tray and stopping spills off the finished pile?
Damn, there goes my relaxing week or two of printing and packing.
Ha ha.
So that ended the day’s play.
And while the youngster was busy trimming my bush and cutting back the creeper, I was exchanging batteries in cars and getting the year-long wrapped Mini out of hibernation.
With a pull of the choke and a few presses of the throttle it came alive sweetly and, after a few tests, I declared it a runner.
What a day.
What a lot done.
Thanks to a brave and very helpful son tackling my long list of jobs, and a little effort from me going behind him and helping where I could, as well as getting the Mini driven by my own hands into the garage, all on the power of three small pills.
I still can’t believe it.
Three small steroids fixed me up, just in time to have the best Dad’s Day ever.
Now I’d better check on my eldest’s list for keeping the spare room cool this coming wedding weekend.
Good night.
Take care.
