Post 73: Olive Rides Again
No AFib today, and the sun shone on a happy family outing.
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With chemo now delayed a week while I wait to be rebooked into the system, today was always going to be a quieter one — thankfully. A chance to spend time with our visitors, to make some happy memories, and to idle away a summer’s day.
I suggested a little road trip — a seaside town not too far away, a bit of gentle tourism, and a few local delights to soak up the sunshine properly.
But first, I had a quick appointment with Dr E — my cardiologist — to talk through last night’s AFib episode. Looking back, it feels more like a big bump in the road rather than the full-on panic I’d felt at the time. Dr E arrived promptly, calmed my nerves with that calm, grounded manner of his, he accepted a small gift from us — some chocolates for him and his team, just a little token of our gratitude. Before long, we had everything we needed. He told us we were always welcome to reach out anytime, and honestly, that’s the most reassuring thing he could’ve said.
So, no more confusion, no more crossed wires. I’ve learned how to handle my aging heart a little better. From now on, I’ll try to ride out the bumps and keep my eyes on the bigger goal: getting back on the bus and giving the cancer a headache.
While we were at the hospital, we’d dropped the visitors off to deplore the town centre and all its bounty. Thanks to WhatsApp, we easily relocated them and whisked them off to a favourite local tearoom for brunch. My niece gave me a look that could stop traffic and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn’t allowed to pay. “I’ll kill you if you try,” she said. Even after a hard-fought staring contest (which I won, I might add), she didn’t budge. Soon after, our plates of loveliness arrived, and not a crumb was left.
The tearoom’s high ceilings and slowly rotating fans gave us a break from the heat. Then it was time to move on. We made our way to the beach, where the tide was gently rolling out, slowly revealing the sand beneath the shingle. It was a picture-perfect afternoon.
We did all the proper seaside things: 99 ice creams in hand, watching gulls circle overhead for scraps, families huddled on colourful blankets, kids building sandcastles, people slowly crisping in the sun. We strolled around the pier, soaking in the seaside soundtrack — arcade clinks, gull cries, distant radios — and snapped a few group photos to mark the day.
Back we wandered to Olive the Volvo, who’d wisely parked herself under some plane trees for a bit of shade. Then it was homeward bound to get ready for the evening’s BBQ.
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Sadly, for the second day running, the back pain returned — fierce, fast, and frustrating. I had to bow out of hosting duties again. Upstairs I went, another couple of paracetamol downed, and into bed I curled, waiting for the ache to fade.
Just like yesterday the pain shot up from my lower back all the way to my neck — an electric, aching arc that left me winded. I hated leaving My Darling to manage everything on her own, but I had no choice. She took it all in stride, as she always does. I could hear them in the garden — the gentle murmur of conversation, bursts of laughter, the soft notes of music drifting through the night air. It was lovely. And it made me happy, but also quietly sad that I wasn’t well enough to be with them.
I really must start tracking these pain episodes — when they start, what I’ve done that day — in case we can work out what’s triggering them. They’re debilitating and unpredictable.
My Darling popped up a few times to check on me, each time looking a little more tired. We’ve always hosted parties and gatherings together, shoulder to shoulder. It felt wrong to not be there beside her. But everyone understood, and the evening was a resounding success regardless.
Well done, My Darling.
So, a mostly uneventful day — and that’s a good thing — ended in laughter and love for our visitors. They’re heading back to Eire tomorrow, and I know there’ll be tears. I’ll be there beside My Darling to say our farewells to the family who came so far to be with us.
We are, without question, privileged.
And we feel loved.
The buss will be passing by on Thursday.
I can’t wait to hop on again.
