New Scribblings

 

It’s been 3 years since I last posted to this blog.  Life has kept me entertained, or in any event, busy.

The girls are growing up fast. Pips 16, Boo 14, Peeka 12.  They are fantastic, funny, quirky, sometimes grumpy and mean, downright savage at times!  But mostly they are brilliant, intelligent, wise and beautiful young people.  Having become used to being a predominantly single woman and predominantly single parent for the past 5 years, with the girls’ dad 200 miles away and very quickly with someone else, I have settled into a different kind of motherhood, letting go of any hope that I will ever be perfect at this job; not even trying to be be perfect, and being ok with that.  It’s very freeing, but my house is even messier.  I don’t care unless people are coming over (excluding my close people, most of whom don’t care either.)

There have been both significant and insignificant other men in my life since the separation, but I’ve not been ready for anything so serious as meeting their parents or moving in together- I feel I have enough on with the life I already have, and I know my girls would struggle with sharing their home.  Let’s be honest – I would struggle with sharing our home.  It’s a struggle to share it with my own kids, frequently!  But I have gained a couple of male friends whose company I really treasure.  And even the Ex, for all his infuriating faults, is still a friend of sorts. 

My friends are awesome.  The Lasses -firm friends since Sixth Form- are hilarious and real.  I love these women.  Months, years can go by and they don’t change any of the things I love about them, but their spirits evolve into shapes and stories I find even more interesting and complex and side-splittingly funny.  In fact, all my friends are real and funny and wise, and nothing like me and just like me, and nothing like each other, but somehow all kind of cut from the same cloth, in different colours and patterns.   I feel really blessed that I have any friends, frankly, since I’d much rather hole up on my own, never encountering another soul, given the chance.  I’m an antisocial sod.  Except when I feel like being sociable, then I can do it for a bit, and have the best time! But I'm easily peopled-out, and then I have to retreat to the sanctuary of my loner-lair.

My parents are precious to me.  My mum and dad have seen me through some horrible times.  Dad with his easy, calm nature has been a rock, always there when I need him and also a big help in the garden and with DIY.  Mum… more of a lifeboat than a rock; riding the boiling seas with me, going with me through everything I have gone through, but feeling worse, I suspect.  Because while I was being floaty and positive and choosing not to deal with things sometimes, she took it all on; the worry, the stress, the terrible what-ifs.

Even though, usually, I feel fine and strong and vital, energised by the simple joys of life, my health has been a bit shit. There was the whole bowel cancer thing a couple of years ago; I might write more about it sometime.  But in a nutshell: the late diagnosis, the emergency stoma surgery, chemo-radiotherapy, premature menopause, more major surgery, infections (then doing a counselling placement, a load of coursework and finally completing my Counselling Diploma!), then a stoma reversal surgery which has left me with LARS, Lower Anterior Resection Syndrome – meaning I often shit myself with no warning, so I have to wear nappies – sexy. 

We moved house nearly 2 weeks ago, back into what was the family home once upon a time.  It had been mostly unlived-in for 5 years and was in a sad and sorry state.  One year, a very generous financial gift from the ex-in-laws, and a LOT of hard work later, and it’s looking like a home again.  A new home, for us now. We all have our own bedrooms now and there is a lot more space.  It’s so much easier to relax when you don’t have to share the one quiet place in the house with 2 washing racks, a computer and a huge box of mail to be sorted and filed.  I got the loft converted and now I have my dream bedroom, looking over the trees and houses.  I’ve been waking up feeling very smug and happy.

But, as I said to a friend recently, life doesn’t let you be smug for long.   I found out last week that my cancer has returned, in my liver this time.  I’ve scared myself silly by Googling survival statistics for secondary liver cancer.  But my doctors are being very positive about removing the 8cm tumour and blasting any leftover bits with chemo.  So I’m feeling hopeful that they can sort me out.

Faced with my own mortality in a way that didn’t really register last time, I’ve decided to write about my life again, just in case there is less of it left than I hoped for.  Sometimes I might feel profound  and inspired.  Sometimes I might just want to indulge myself.  And sometimes I might want to share a picture of my tea, review some cheese, or complain.  Maybe I won’t feel like writing again.  I don’t know.

Yesterday I did some gardening at my new house with my mum. Mum trimmed and lopped and I hacked, chopped and battered.  Then we sat in the shade of (half) an oak tree and watched the birds flitting around; it was very peaceful.

These are my legs and my wellies.  Enjoy.