Post 82: Another good day.
When my mind is not full of self-advocacy, it’s a good day.
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If it wasn’t for last night’s continual, brief—but necessary—bladder events every hour and a half, I’d have had a less tiring day. But as it was, the TV didn’t notice much.
My Darling nudged me out of my slumbers, off to the kitchen saying, “I’ll do breakfast today,” leaving me in bed to take the 8am pills. I’m not at all hungry at that time of day, but the steroids necessitate a bite to eat to protect my tum.
Hot porridge topped with straw- and blueberries, infused with honey and brown sugar, is a real delight—and a pre-diabetic nightmare (which I’m not… yet). Carrying on like this, though, might push me into a more prudent diet.
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I’ve always been able to eat what I liked since I was a kid. As a young adult, I drank and ate takeaways too much—especially chilli kebabs. The hotter, the better.
I still remember the late night I was introduced to chilli by my great pal Tim. I was sweet sixteen, and the high street had this new foreign takeaway selling kebabs—food from a country far away somewhere, a place I knew nothing about. We’d been at the youth club at the other end of town and needed refreshments. He suggested this tasty treat - I think he wanted to see me cry with pain Ha-ha.
After getting back to his car with the paper-wrapped elephants leg doner, dressed up like a fish and chip supper, I could already tell I’d like it. The smell of the oily meat and fresh salad on the already soggy pitta was fantastic.
The moment of truth: pulling a string of meat from the hot bag of mystery, adding some salad and tomato—and then, BAM. My virgin tastebuds got the kicking of their lives. Tim was already tucking into his and was inconsolable with laughter as I sat numbed by this lip-searing, tongue-curling chilli sauce that attacked all my senses… and left me with a lifelong love of spice.
Thanks, Tim—you’re a star.
At home, the food Dad produced daily after Mum left—after the divorce—was traditional, if meagre. Local butcher’s sausages were the best, but we usually had to go cheap due to a continual lack of funds. Fortunately, Dad was a great gardener, and the back garden more of an allotment—so we always had fresh food from his horticultural love and expertise.
The contrast between that and the modern world was exciting. After my first chilli supper, things broadened to curries, burritos, and more.
The food journey in early adulthood in the early ’80s was an amazing trip.
Today’s high street—and digital delivery menus—are so globally diverse that it’s hard to remember what countryside towns were like before this culinary explosion.
Would we really want to go back to only tea-shops, fish and chips, and a Wimpy?
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My Darling was jaded, so she returned to bed while I munched on fruity porridge and pills, then settled onto the big blue sofa again.
K-drama was the choice of the day. I’m already halfway through this 50-hour saga of a dysfunctional family—three generations, three granddaughters—each fighting to have the perfect addition to the family: babies. Yes, it’s sometimes cute, but mostly it’s a good-and-evil, jealousy-and-envy, never-ending plot twist fest.
It shouldn’t affect me at all—but it does. It makes me think back to when My Darling and I were scarred and overprotective of the tiny new persons growing between us, as we worried our way toward parenthood. So when the sneaky tears roll down my cheeks at sudden emotional turns, I guess it’s relief—knowing now that everything turned out okay with our kids.
It’s only when you look back that you realise how much worry there was: pre- and post-natal checks, fears over growth, health, happiness…
Does it ever stop, though? Apparently not. Both boys are in their thirties now, and I’m still a basket case. Once a nervous dad—always a nervous dad.
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The chemo took its toll with a 2pm snooze after a light lunch with My Darling. I had to retire upstairs—I just couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Maybe in a couple more days I’ll be able to go out for a walk, but not yet. I’m still so tired. My appetite is poor, but the food made with such care and love forces me to eat well. I’m full all the time and haven’t lost any weight—which will help recovery in the long run.
You are what you eat.
So everything is calm. I’m in no pain. Day four completed.
Even if I missed out on the weekend’s festivities—local and far away—they can still be enjoyed via Facebook waves and digital news in the palm of my hand.
I’m looking forward to more calm days and increased strength to enjoy them.
The bus is on a smooth ride with the help of My Darling. I’m staying put and enjoying it.
I hope she’s enjoying it too.
This is what recovery looks like. xx
