Monday 17 August 2020

Drama Queen

 Last Thursday, I woke up early, having hardly slept due to the stifling summer heat, and was grateful that the air had cooled down overnight. I opened the curtains to enjoy the fresh damp of the dewy garden, then went downstairs, made myself a coffee and brought it back to bed, and it was only then that I realised it was Hospital Appointment Day.  I was all at once stopped in my tracks and sickened by that awful kicked-in-the-guts feeling you get, when you remember something you have been dreading.

After that, my whole getting ready routine was refracted through a strange and sad prism of imagined meaning- the shower didn’t immediately work; what did that mean? Was it a sign? More of my hair came out than usual when I washed it; was this a warning? A prediction? I knocked my favourite and sparkliest, rainbowiest dangly crystal down as I passed in front of the windows; why that crystal? What was the Universe trying to tell me?  In my heart, I felt a strong sense that I was living the last few hours and minutes of a sweet ‘before’, to which the ‘after’ would be forever bitter in comparison. It took me a few goes to find appropriate music to mark the occasion. SYML seemed the obvious choice, but instead I went for Radio 1, in case of further messages from God/the heavens. Bloody drama queen! 🤣 

On the way to the hospital, in the passenger seat of Mum’s Fiesta, a seat I only ever seem to sit in when I’m going to the hospital, I felt sick. A few days before, on the way for one of my scans, Mum’s car had begun to squeak again. It used to squeak all the time two years ago when she was driving me to my radiotherapy appointments, 5 days a week for 5 weeks. Even the car knows something’s wrong, I thought.  I began to weep, tears for fears. I felt actually terrified. 

Long story short, it went SO much better than I thought it was going to.  I can’t even describe the relief.  The bubbly consultant and his upbeat specialist nurse put us immediately at ease.  

“Well, the good news is, we can get it out,” he said matter-of-factly in a friendly Australian twang.  

“Ok, good. What’s the bad news?” I asked, feeling like my guts were about to drop out of my arse.

 “There isn’t any bad news,” said the nurse gently, with smiley eyes above her Covid mask.

“Do you want some bad news?” the consultant asked in mock surprise, “ahhhh... well, you’re going to need an operation, so that we can get it out. And some chemo to mop up any bits left over.”  I already knew this, so it didn’t feel like bad news at all.

That was it. Yes, I was given the usual info about risks of surgery, what could go wrong in the worst case scenario, the stuff they have to say.  But after that, a quick examination of my now no longer churning tummy, and I was free to go.  Back in the hospital foyer, I felt like I was walking on air, so much lighter than I’d felt half an hour ago.  I could tell Mum felt it too.

Back home, Peeka loitered while I told the Ex how things had gone, and my eyes locked with her scared dark chocolate ones.

 “It’s all ok, I just have to have another operation and some treatment, it’ll be just like last time, Daddy will stay with you while I’m in hospital.”

“Ok,” she said, taking it all in her stride, before returning to Project Diva, her latest obsession.

I went upstairs to see Boo in her new bedroom.  The night before, at bedtime, she had asked me to give her a hug.  She hates hugs with anyone apart from her Dad, who she idolises. She especially hates Mum-hugs.  But that night she was tearful and upset. I jumped at the chance for a cuddle and asked what was on her mind.  

“I’ve been thinking a lot about death,” she said.  

“Oh, Boo, have you been worrying about my death?”

“No, mine”, she answered with a wobble. “Do you think when we die we get reborn?”

“Nobody really knows what happens, apart from the people who have already died.  Some people believe ... ... ... .  2 minutes of my musings on death and beyond. 

“What do you hope happens when we die, Boo?”

“I hope I live on,” she said simply.

“I hope I do too,” I replied.

“Was it bad news?” she asked.  So often I assume she’s oblivious, not engaged, unconnected.  She is none of these things.  She feels very deeply, she just doesn’t show it very often.  I shared my news and she said, “Ok, can you go now?” A typical Boo response. I have my information, you can leave.

I popped my head around Pips’ door, and told her my news as briefly as I could. Pips isn’t into long conversations with me, unless she has initiated them. I treasure them, when they happen.  This wasn’t one of them.

“Epic,” she replied, and continued putting on her make up.

Everyone is ok, I thought to myself.

On Friday morning, I made myself a coffee and brought it back to bed. Things felt back to normal again. Life as usual. Life, with its ups and downs. I opened the windows and heard the noise from the road outside, and, in between cars, buses and lorries, the birdsong from the trees out the back. 







8 comments:

Unknown said...

That is so very beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with us and although I am so cross that you once again need to be strong I simply know you will be. You are a beautiful inspiration to us all and I am proud to know you xxxxx

BooHooMama said...

Thank you! I don’t know which of my lovely peeps you are, but your words mean a lot to me. 😘

Mimonde18 said...

Thank you for sharing your story with us my friend

Unknown said...

Karen xxx❤️❤️

Lesley Wales said...

Another very honest blog. Love it, love you! Xxx

Steph said...

So glad it was good news for you. You have such a way of putting your feelings down in print; a real gift.

Unknown said...

Ah thats lovely 🥰🥰

Jackie Silverwood said...

You write straight from the heart, Bev, and you've got plenty of that! Beautiful! xxx