I lie in bed feeling like shit. I eventually get up, wander round the huge, silent house. The weather outside smiles through cloud. Insie, my weather feels more like grey cloud.
I think, absently, abuot the days that lie ahead, trying to insert markers. What I would like would be to see my friends Alison and Geoffrey and their dogs. I send a tentative email.
It's familiar territory that I left 10 year ago for a relationship. Time is like a map with an empty landscape, it needs features, but the right sort, not too many. The features need to be attractive, ones that can be looked forward to. To go out to dinner with the Youngs would not be right as they have invited me so many times. It would be lovely to see A and G, but I mustn't push... etc.
I'm finding that I'm thinking less abuot D, and more about the fact that I am alone. How it is true that when one is married, one has an inbuilt social life, decisions of preference are more about does one really want to go to that obscure concert etc.
Yesterday was a lovely day, spent with S, although Tie Rack (for gloves for self) caused tears. Coming back in the train, I did think about how I would have to face going back to the house without Derek, but mercifully, I had to do a quick turnaround as when out to church film club.
Perhaps this is all a nightmare, and I will wake up early January to find that Derek is recovering from 'flu, and not descending the dark path to ALL
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
March 8th
Derek has been dead for nearly two weeks now. Today I am going down to London to see my friend Sandy, so I am feeling reasonably positive.
But last night was awful - went with B (v well meaning, didni't want to leave me alone) to the pub quiz. A lot of noise, laughter, questions that I didn't know (am weak on celebrities, sport, pop music, anagrams so generally do badly on quizzes anyway). In addition to feeling tired I just missed D like hell. Actually, hell, I've just realised, is a good word for the loss of a loved one. The psalm describes how whether the writer goes to the heights or depths, God is there.
But with bereavement, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, the beloved is NOT there. He was not there for me at the weekend when I was looking after my friends who had made considerable efforts to see me, and whom I wanted to spoil a bit - and I was reminded of how he was so good with food and entertaining.
He was not there for me on Monday when I was dealing with all that dreadful correspondence and the house felt sooooo empty. I can be on my own for short periods, but not for long periods, I realise having told someone at weekends that I have learnt to live on my own. Well, I have now unlearnt...
But last night was awful - went with B (v well meaning, didni't want to leave me alone) to the pub quiz. A lot of noise, laughter, questions that I didn't know (am weak on celebrities, sport, pop music, anagrams so generally do badly on quizzes anyway). In addition to feeling tired I just missed D like hell. Actually, hell, I've just realised, is a good word for the loss of a loved one. The psalm describes how whether the writer goes to the heights or depths, God is there.
But with bereavement, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, the beloved is NOT there. He was not there for me at the weekend when I was looking after my friends who had made considerable efforts to see me, and whom I wanted to spoil a bit - and I was reminded of how he was so good with food and entertaining.
He was not there for me on Monday when I was dealing with all that dreadful correspondence and the house felt sooooo empty. I can be on my own for short periods, but not for long periods, I realise having told someone at weekends that I have learnt to live on my own. Well, I have now unlearnt...
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Tuesday evening
Tomorrow will be a week since the initial diagnosis. Yesterday was the first chemo. It went on for a really long time: I left D at 2pm, then took the dogs for a long walk, and when I arrived back I expected to find him finished but in fact he hadn't started. Frustration. He seemed quite happy enough, reading his paper.
When I eventually got back to the car, two pairs of ears were very alert, four eyes said, why have you left us so long....
Tuesday starts relatively calmly: D says he feels 'heavy, not in control'... unable to drive so I need to take him to his diabetic nurse appointment. This means I have to change my vet appointment so that once again, whole afternoon seems to 'go' in dog walks and appointments.
D still relatively cheerful, although he said yesterday that the diagnosis was sinking in and he was very nervous about the chemo. He is functioning, though, still very much in control of the food.
I suppose that I should resign myself to the fact that from now on life will be dominated by various appointments. However, I just seem not to be able to bear the appointments, the long waits, the clinical atmosphere ...
Today's crisis is that his blood sugar is up at dangerous levels - terrible but I threw a fit when he said that he would come up and see the nurse tomorrow morning at 9.30, said I was the breadwinner how could I leave my work... We worked out a compromise and I pleaded for strong sleeping pills...
Now half way through alcoholic oblivion...
When I eventually got back to the car, two pairs of ears were very alert, four eyes said, why have you left us so long....
Tuesday starts relatively calmly: D says he feels 'heavy, not in control'... unable to drive so I need to take him to his diabetic nurse appointment. This means I have to change my vet appointment so that once again, whole afternoon seems to 'go' in dog walks and appointments.
D still relatively cheerful, although he said yesterday that the diagnosis was sinking in and he was very nervous about the chemo. He is functioning, though, still very much in control of the food.
I suppose that I should resign myself to the fact that from now on life will be dominated by various appointments. However, I just seem not to be able to bear the appointments, the long waits, the clinical atmosphere ...
Today's crisis is that his blood sugar is up at dangerous levels - terrible but I threw a fit when he said that he would come up and see the nurse tomorrow morning at 9.30, said I was the breadwinner how could I leave my work... We worked out a compromise and I pleaded for strong sleeping pills...
Now half way through alcoholic oblivion...
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Saturday evening
Yesterday, we went to the hospital (or rather, the haematology outpatients) to report for duty, and were given the final diagnosis and treatment plan, which is basically a) he can take all chemotherapy drugs, including the one that is toxic to the heart and b) he does not have Philadelphia syndrome, which basically means he doesn't have the type of leukaemia with poor prognosis.
After feeling high the other day, I now feel pretty low. Derek is coping remarkably well, seems fairly cheerful despite being without much energy, and hiccupping constantly which must be very unpleasant ( I think it's the steroids).
Now that there seems a strong, if eventual, hope of remission, I am beginning to grieve over the disruption to our plans, namely, having to cancel our holiday to South Africa. I realise that I am being dragged out of my comfort zone, which, I see, depends on the possibility of getting away from time to time, especially to exotic locations. Added to the disappointment factor is guilt and feeling selfish.
Additionally I find that he is irritating me - perhaps it is his cheerfulness, and the fact that he doesn't seem frustrated about the abandonment of our plans. So after a hectic morning, I collapse onto the sofa sewing and reading; I also make plans to go to the cinema, which makes me feel slightly better.
I feel appallingly selfish that I should even think about him considering my feelings. But this is what this blog is about - my chance to have a good old moan.
After feeling high the other day, I now feel pretty low. Derek is coping remarkably well, seems fairly cheerful despite being without much energy, and hiccupping constantly which must be very unpleasant ( I think it's the steroids).
Now that there seems a strong, if eventual, hope of remission, I am beginning to grieve over the disruption to our plans, namely, having to cancel our holiday to South Africa. I realise that I am being dragged out of my comfort zone, which, I see, depends on the possibility of getting away from time to time, especially to exotic locations. Added to the disappointment factor is guilt and feeling selfish.
Additionally I find that he is irritating me - perhaps it is his cheerfulness, and the fact that he doesn't seem frustrated about the abandonment of our plans. So after a hectic morning, I collapse onto the sofa sewing and reading; I also make plans to go to the cinema, which makes me feel slightly better.
I feel appallingly selfish that I should even think about him considering my feelings. But this is what this blog is about - my chance to have a good old moan.
Thursday, 20 January 2011
The day after - evening
I think I am on a high. I went to dog school, I had thought I would tell Pete (the trainer) about the situation, but didn't. I guess that I felt that I just wanted to be me, and Golden Boy, who excels in everything except his eponemous skill, retrieval, and enjoy a bit of us-ness. So I ran around with GB, GB with a big dog laugh on his face, me supplying the sound track, hehehehehehe...
Came back and did an hour's work.
Came back and did an hour's work.
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