Post 446: Opportunity knocks - one cat for sale…
With the engine room of the south heating up yet again, “it’s gonna be a hot one” is on everyone’s lips.
Even the cat had a problem this morning. In fact, if I’d caught the bloody thing at the right moment, I’d have been tempted to give him away to the circus. Such was the unexpected and vicious attack I received.
Apparently, that’s love.
I’m here to tell you it didn’t feel like it.
I needed first aid on myself before moving across two bedrooms and waking my Darling so she could slather Savlon across my foot. My word, I was not bothered about giving Mr Vicious his breakfast after that.
He grabbed my heel and main foot with all his claws and teeth. My bare foot was not happy with those dirty, sharp talons wrapped around it for those few seconds.
It wasn’t funny. It was painful, and it certainly wasn’t requested.
I didn’t need those scratches first thing in the morning. I felt brutalised by the flipping cat, and for the first time in twelve years I questioned our relationship.
Oh, how times have changed…
Of course, later on I fed him.
The problem with cats is they don’t carry guilt. They don’t understand why you’re upset. The event has happened, they’ve moved on, and you’re left remembering it.
I can’t hold it against him fore hi ver.
So I climbed down from my position of grandeur and accepted that, in a week or two, he’ll probably be back on my lap having a sleepy cuddle and I’ll have forgiven everything.
Moving on to snacks and appetite, as the steroids slowly disappear from my daily routine, I have to admit the hunger has continued.
I’ve become a grazer of note.
The snacks that have been quietly sitting in cupboards, minding their own business, have not survived the week.
Remember Monday, when I ate all day and spent the rest of it visiting the bathroom? Well, despite that little adventure, the appetite has stayed.
And one of the biggest surprises has been the little tins of sardines in olive oil.
After breaking my vegetarian traditions a few weeks ago, I’ve discovered something I never expected.
I like them.
Actually, I don’t just like them. I sit there with a fork and eat them like sweets.
What has happened to me?
Is there anything I won’t eat during this steroid-powered recovery period?
I suppose I should be grateful. Friday will reveal what I’ve gained in weight, and hopefully the extra protein and food are helping me rebuild some strength.
Tomorrow I see Dr S, and we’ll no doubt talk about the dramatic drop and rise in my weight. But unless there’s a problem, I feel I’m in a much better place.
The bloods are okay. The pain relief is working. The hospice support is there.
So what could go wrong?
Well, there is still the back.
That remains the one thing playing on my mind.
The pain is higher up now and feels like it’s coming from my spine. It’s there whenever I’m awake and only really settles when I’m resting in bed or sitting supported.
The difficult thing is that despite scans and investigations, there has been no clear explanation.
I know the emergency MRI was looking for urgent problems — new damage, pressure, anything requiring immediate action — but what I would really like to understand is not only what is new, but what has changed.
Has anything progressed?
Has anything altered?
Is this simply wear and tear, or is something else happening?
Those are the questions I want answered.
Perhaps tomorrow’s oncology appointment will help. Perhaps it won’t.
The reality of active surveillance is that sometimes watching and waiting is the plan.
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The tennis has been wonderful hasn’t it? Wow, absolutely brilliant for our very own Arthur Fery and the Fery-tale in which he’s in, at Wimbledon, and us with him.
It’s a great distraction to this week’s main event where I’m going to join my sister and brother at our Nannie’s grave to say good bye to our Mums ashes.
I’ve been getting more anxious and emotional all week even though we’ll be together for five minutes to set this last bit of Mums time with us away for this last time.
It’s deeply personal how each of us feel about it and as it’s been very nearly four years hence, but I’m brewing tears in the background and will hope not to release them all over my new suit.
Ah, but this is what I want, what Mum would want, to be finally be resting with her own Mum nearby her birthplace.
Oh how times have changed since Nanny was interned as a body in that graveyard in 1978.
The years have proven to see huge change in the way we view and deal with death and remains.
The space necessary to bury everyone in the time honoured way, in churchyards and the ritual of the body lying in state in the church is now highly unusual but so to the short possession to the graveyard from the church is so rare now.
Possibly down to cost but regulatory powers of due process are singularly restrictive, and all to continue to have a respectful graveyard of remembrance.
We can all get behind that idea of course which makes Fridays internment all the more right.
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As you can tell on today’s blog, I’m not standing on firm ground anywhere right now.
If I get answers I’ll be better but I think that’s unlikely. Watch and wait will be the name of the oncology game.
As for Mum’s afterparty, a tea-party to soothe or nerves with a trifle as a star exhibit, a memento of what life was like for us kids on every possible occasion, will be the star attraction.
I can’t wait for that.
Take care
PS
Reflecting on yesterday’s post, can I thank you all for your thoughts and inspiration. I feel the love every day. Thank you.
Mr U
