Post 74: Thunder in my Back, Sunshine in Farewells
The visitors had a good send-off, but my back pain stayed.
———
My Darling slept well and woke up in high spirits, smiling at the sound of our visitors already bustling about downstairs. Time for me to get up too.
I didn’t sleep much — the back pain kept me tossing, turning and moaning, and I reached for more paracetamol just to take the edge off. It helped a little, but not enough. I’ve noticed it’s worse when I sit. I just can’t get comfortable. But walking? That’s manageable, even welcome.
So we met up in town for one final café brunch. More stories, more laughter. Their flight was later today, so last night’s garden party — which I only heard from upstairs — turned out to be a fabulous send-off. They told me all about it over coffee and cool water, and though I missed the action, the retelling was full of joy. That laughter carried through the windows and walls last night, a sort of music of its own.
After a little more last-minute shopping for take-home treasures, we headed back to regroup.
Despite the pain meds, my back still nagged away at me all day. But we gathered the tribe and made our way to the local train station for their short ride toward the airport. And just like that, the visit was over — far too fast. There were hugs, teary eyes, promises whispered with hope:
“See you soon.”
“Please God.”
The house felt quieter after they left, a kind of emotional jet lag settling in. We surrendered to the stillness and sank into a slow afternoon of telly and snacks. Tomorrow, we’ll get back to sensible eating. Brunching like royalty has taken its toll on my waistband — my stomach needs a gentle reset and maybe a sincere apology.
———
Now, this morning: thunder rolls behind the blackout curtains, matching my mood almost too perfectly.
The pills still haven’t really cracked the pain. Another night of discomfort and interrupted sleep. If this keeps up through the weekend, I’ll need to speak to someone on Monday. I keep hoping it’ll just… pass.
To be fair, I’ve been incredibly lucky. Nearly three years of this cancer rollercoaster and very little in the way of actual pain. So maybe I shouldn’t grumble — but it’s creeping in now, and I don’t want it to get a foothold.
Oh — one more thing.
Seven hours of AFib and palpitations last night.
That stole the shine off our restful evening pretty quickly. Just like that — out of nowhere. No real warning, just the sudden rhythm of chaos. It wore me out.
My cancer nurse is on holiday, so even if I wanted to report all this to my oncologist, the usual channels are blocked. Not that I plan to. I’m not heading to A&E unless something really escalates. I’ve been told that’s the line to take: “Only go if it’s serious.” So I’ll stay behind that line — for now.
But honestly, I’m desperate for chemo to restart. It has to happen this week.
It’s been eight weeks — that’s a long time to let the cancer run free.
I can’t help but imagine what it’s up to in there, unmonitored. Unchecked.
They need to lock it up again. I need to get back in the fight.
I’m sorry this post is a bit down. But I’ll rise again. I always do.
The storm will pass — inside and out.
