Post 86: Not the best first flight.
Some days are better than others — (U2)
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Not having had much pain in my life until now, I’m a bit of a newcomer to this world of recurring discomfort.
I’ve been lucky. I’ve never broken a bone — unless you count the cracked ribs from a few years back that led to the DEXA scan and the diagnosis of a bit of osteoporosis. But ribs don’t count in my book — they’re just there to protect and break anyway.
There was that time I fractured a couple of metatarsals playing Stoolball as a young teenager and ended up in a plaster cast. But those were the days of flared trousers, so you couldn’t even see the cast. It was only the crutches that gave me away. Still, I don’t remember ever hurting myself much…
Well — except maybe for the time I decided to jump out of the apple tree in our front garden.
I had been sketching birds from the bow window for years, watching them peck at the crusts we left out on the grass. I especially liked the thrushes, but it was the daddy blackbird with the yellow eye-ring that I thought was the coolest. I spent hours drawing them, convinced I understood them, maybe even was one of them.
So, I climbed the tree, waited for an audience — Mum and the others — and took flight.
Sort of.
I launched myself with great confidence… and crashed at Mum’s feet. She stood there, stunned and silent. I sprinted off inside, confused as to why my glorious flight had lasted all of one second. How do birds do it?
The family still tells the story. It’s funny now — but it could have ended very differently. I was lucky that day. I didn’t learn how to fly, but I did learn to respect the idea of flight.
To this day, I’ve had a soft spot for flying. From French balloons to Concorde, I’ve loved them all.
I think my flying days are over now, but part of me still wishes I could take off and view the world from an above the hedges and rooftops.
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My Darling has been wonderfully attentive, as always — keeping me on track with the daily routines and checking I’m feeling alright.
I was getting stir-crazy, stuck between the TV and a good book, so I suggested a short loop walk along the trail to get some fresh air.
Still a great idea, I reckon.
We survived the grey but warm skies and managed the 1.5 miles without incident. No tree-climbing, no thoughts of solo flight — just a gentle stroll. A walk in the park, ha-ha.
But when we got back, I couldn’t settle on the sofa together. My back started to ache — and these days, that’s a warning sign.
Within the hour I was hobbling upstairs, painkillers in hand, and trying to ride it out. It was rough for a bit, but I eventually nodded off into a nana nap and woke up comfortable enough for dinner in bed.
I really don’t know what I’d do without My Darling.
I try not to take her constant attention for granted — I love it — but I know I wear her out and I hate that I bring her stress.
I’m grateful.
I’m lucky.
Really lucky.
I stayed in bed for the evening and drifted into dreams of being younger, stronger — of flying again.
Those days may be gone, but they’re still stitched into my earliest memories.
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Day eight passed without incident. No cardiac dramas, no tricycle delays — a good day. But pain management… that’s something I’ve got to get better at. It’s a skill in its own right.
Still, I’m well on my way.
My heart’s behaving, my stats are solid, I’m feeling mostly good, and I’ve got a couple of calm weeks ahead.
Big Sis is visiting tomorrow — a lovely break for My Darling and a chance for me to bore someone else with my latest woes and small triumphs.
I’d better go and water the sunflowers she brought to me a while back.
Whatever cancer throws your way, we’re right there with you.
We’re here to provide physical, financial and emotional support.
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