Post 67: A Day of Promises, dashed.
Saturday started full of promise — but didn’t quite live up to it.
I slept okay, I think.
Woke up early and crept downstairs to feed Mr Vicious before his usual pre-breakfast opera began. He doesn’t meow — he demands.
Once up, I washed and put away last night’s dishes — something I hadn’t had the energy for at the time. Lazy bugger, I know. But considering My Darling prepares and serves every meal, it’s one small way I try to help lighten her load.
I used to do a bit of cooking when the kids were little — nothing fancy, but warm, wholesome stuff. Or so I like to remember it! These days, I’m rarely allowed near the stove unless requested for my one-hit-wonder: lentilnese (a lentil and mushroom veggie Bolognese). A classic by demand.
By 9:15am I was on the phone to the pharmacy, chasing the Sotalol prescription we fought so hard to sort last night. The poor receptionist hunted high and low, but no sign of it. Not surprised, if I’m honest. More likely Monday will bring resolution. Still, disappointing.
So, to distract myself from medical frustrations, I buried my nose in sudoku puzzles and stayed politely out of My Darling’s way. At 11, I flicked on the telly and there they were — the King and Queen in a low-slung carriage for HRH’s birthday parade. A nod to tradition. The kind of pageantry my mum and her mum adored. Mum lived just down the road from Windsor Castle for years, so we always had a running commentary during local royal events. Today’s felt very familiar — comforting, in a way.
Meanwhile, My Darling came down, heard the latest on the missing pills, and promptly made a fantastic cooked breakfast to cheer us both up. She really is the best.
We drifted through the day with the TV on, putting off a walk until the heat subsided. We’d already had to turn down a friend’s 60th birthday party this evening, which was tough. We sent our love, of course, but it still stung to be missing out. Another social moment missed. Another reason to feel like I’m dragging us away from normal society and social interactions we have had all our lives.
Eventually, the day cooled, and we set off for a walk — two miles through familiar, leafy paths. My Darling kept checking in with me:
“How’s the heart?”
Each time:
“Good, thanks.”
It felt great to be out. Fresh air, a little stretch of the legs, and even a sense of normality. The best part of the day, by far.
When we got back, we collapsed onto the sofa, and even Mr Vicious joined us — curling up behind our heads, purring contentedly. He’s basically an irritating hair-distribution system, but sometimes he plays the companion role convincingly.
Another bright spot: My Darling’s 35th anniversary ring, resized and back on her finger. A delicate white gold and diamond piece we found in New York earlier this year. She wore it on our walk, and it shimmered in the sun, matching her smile. It suits her perfectly. A small thing that means a lot.
It really was a lovely, calm day. Just what I needed.
But then, as is often the case, things took a little dip. I headed to bed while My Darling caught up on Love Island, and sure enough — an AFib episode arrived. About an hour and a quarter of palpitations, discomfort, and that all-too-familiar sinking feeling.
I couldn’t help but wonder: will the increased dose of Sotalol be enough to calm the storm long enough for chemo to resume this Friday?
6 days to go.
Will the bus be waiting for me?
Will the questions be answered — and will the answers help?
For now, one thing at a time.
Let’s enjoy a slow, quiet Sunday.
———
Ever hopeful.
