Post 93: Taking Stock and Planning.
There are a few things that, once suggested, are hard to ignore — moving house is one of them.
———
Dozing all night on the hastily arranged rocking chair-bed was neither comfortable nor sensible — but it was essential for the best rest I could manage. The long wait until eight in the morning was endless, filled with groans and winces that My Darling, thankfully, didn’t have to hear.
She’s had quite enough of my fidgeting lately. How we both carry on with so little sleep is beyond me. Back in the day, we’d sleep through anything. In fact, during the Great Storm of 1987, we did sleep through a hurricane. We woke up to fallen trees and an eerie silence outside — no car noise, no traffic. In the days that followed, the whine of chainsaws became the soundtrack to that October.
Those nights of refreshing, deep sleep are long gone — replaced now with catnaps, when body and mind allow.
Maybe it’s just age. With so little physical exertion these days, there’s not much need for physical recovery. But ironically, with the increasing pain and the ever-growing list of pills needed to fight it, there’s now a deep need for rest — just no ability to find it.
By 6am, I could hear My Darling moving around upstairs — her footsteps softly passing overhead through the lounge ceiling. She would soon be down to find me.
She hates it when I’m not in bed beside her. She always knows when I sneak off — whether it’s just a trip to the loo or to watch something quietly downstairs if I’m struggling to sleep. And she always finds me with the same loving call:
“Come back to bed please, I can’t sleep if you’re not there.”
So when she found me this morning in my rocker, surrounded by a fortress of cushions propping me up and attempting to soothe me, she looked concerned.
“You don’t look okay,” she said softly. “You look really tired.”
I felt really tired. I explained my crazy 8am countdown plan — staying put, playing a game of statues with the cushions until it was time for pain relief. It was the only plan possible.
Once I had my tablets, the pain began to recede — and the new day, with all its distractions, began to brighten.
By mid-afternoon, I had finally built up enough confidence to return to bed — such was the slow return to a manageable level of pain.
———
My Darling had gone out in the morning with her great friend, Ms S, for a nail appointment and a much-needed chat. Before I knew it, she was back — but not before I made an important call to the hospice.
I rang to ask about the worsening back pain, and while I was explaining everything to the kind clinician on the phone, I was struck down by emotions I couldn’t hold back.
A wave of tears, uninvited but unstoppable.
We arranged a medication review for tomorrow at 2pm. I dried my eyes and felt a little lighter just for having spoken up and been heard.
Soldiering on is all well and good when things are improving — but as they are now, it’s time to seek help. I look forward to finding some answers.
———
Later, I reflected on the conversations My Darling and I had yesterday beneath the shade of the trees — especially the one where she mentioned her desire for a “forever home.”
Somewhere that suits her, and can become our nest — and her sanctuary — for the long road ahead. It’s a practical and deeply comforting idea.
I want to be led by her in this venture, though I can already sense I’ll struggle not to critique every building we see. Control freak habits die hard, ha!
And now for something completely different (thank you, Monty Python)…
Yesterday, I also brought up a topic that had been rolling around in my head. The idea that families — especially the wider circle — can shape how we cope with aging, and more specifically, terminal illness.
“I know you’re not going to like this suggestion, but I have to tell you…” I began.
“I’m willing to offer our boys five grand to the first one who gives us a grandchild.”
My Darling gave me a look.
“You can’t do that,” she said firmly, glaring.
And she’s right, of course. She’s longed for that day — the day she hears that a baby is on the way — but even in that yearning, she knows it’s not something we can force or, God forbid, incentivise.
Still, as devil’s advocate, I made the case: future plans for future generations help to pull the family toward the safety of the light. It’s a distraction, yes — but one filled with hope, joy, and new meaning.
I’ll admit, I’m very jealous of all my fellow netizens who mention their grandchildren or great-grandchildren in their posts.
I’m certain that being a grandparent gives you a special kind of daily purpose — something life-affirming to counterbalance the unwelcome buffers ahead.
———
Pain review tomorrow.
Daydreaming about families today.
Still on the bus, looking for distractions.
The buffers aren’t in sight just yet — but I know they’re there.
Still working on my counselling homework…
“How do I feel?”
In a word — tired.
