Post 61: 5 days till Chemo
Resting pulse: 46 bpm 
Other things: pills are good
Although I’ve been here before, it’s never mattered so much — 5 days to go.
The weekend’s gone without any dramas and the pills seem like they have settled down. I’m still going to ask questions about the statin, but the word on the street is pretty conclusive: it’s only for cholesterol control. A lesser few say it assists the heart by virtue of opening arteries. But for whatever the reason was that I was prescribed them, I’d better just take them and see where we’ end up.
My Darling is generally sleeping better, which is great news for me because of the strain I continue to put her through; I don’t feel so guilty.
We were watching the big lounge TV while chilling on the big blue sofa yesterday. While I get the odd chest twinge, a couple of smartish lightning shocks pulsed through my ribs — left to right. I twitched and winced, and without thinking, grabbed my chest. My Darling looked at me in horror as she went through her “are we off to A&E” mental checklist.
Proof, if proof were needed that…
We are on edge.
All the time.
I know that the only way to ease the current nervous crisis management is to not have to go through any nervous crisis management. But that will take time — and time is slow when you’re waiting for a clear day for a big day. Friday.
But there is counselling today, to take some attention away from the wait and distract one’s mind constructively. Hopefully My Darling will change her course of talk-avoidance with professionals, give it a go, and open up.
Since I’ve known her, she’s locked away some of her thoughts for her survival — but this is different. Very different.
To sit so close to me, as if she were my shadow, while I endure this medical-adventure-course is enough. But to have the added unknown of the prognosis makes everything that much more intense, is heartbreaking.
Fact: Nobody lives forever, and the journey is an unstoppable reality. Meanwhile, the medication and illness speed up the previously natural ageing process.
Coping strategies are occasionally created by the reaction to the problem, but talking — not hiding — is what I’ve found to be essential to having a healthier mind. And blogging.
Without positivity, selfish bloody-mindedness, and hope, we are nothing in the face of illness. Being strong can be a team event if you let it, but all team members suffer as a consequence. I’ve chosen my team carefully, and I hate that I’ve inadvertently caused the spread of my pain.
Meanwhile, the garden is being blown to bits by the unwelcome wind and showers, which is more like April than June. Big Sis gave me some sunflower seedlings a while ago and they’re still untouched — now nearly a foot long and wimpy.
So I tell My Darling I’m going out to plant them along the shed wall, and as I get up to go, she jumps up too and speaks a very rare sentence I’ve probably only heard twice before:
“I’ll come out with you and do some weeding.”
Well, that’s a real big surprise — but I think (and not say) that it’s only to watch over me and keep me safe that she’s donning gloves and a kneeler to rid the back garden of its wildness.
She’s happy, I’m happy, the wimpy sunflowers are happily tied to some canes ready for a growth spurt — if the slugs let them — but the weeds are not happy at all.
A bit of time outside in the healthy fresh air did us good, and the garden looks better for it. Even though it was only an hour or so — you can’t do it all, so leaving some for another day will suffice.
We had a reminder that last week was our anniversary and my birthday, with a belated visitor at the front door. Mel had been ill and stayed away last week, so made the effort now she’s better. She was only dropping off, but we kept her talking about all the medical frustrations and successes of the last busy couple of weeks.
She left Teddy, her little terrier, in the car while she chatted — but had to keep turning off her car alarm, mainly due to a bored hound eagerly eyeing up the many local cats on show. Poor Teddy.
Lastly, it’s nice to get a message of hope and inspiration, and those that are heartfelt do warm the heart the best. Last night was no exception, as a blog reader confided in a similar experience to what I had previously wrote about — the comforting experience of being back in your own space, bathroom and bed.
Thanks D&G.
It’s time for the new pills, so off I must go.
Catch you tomorrow.
Let’s all have a good day.
