Time to celebrate the arrival of a New Year by turning the last digit to 9. With the chance of another day, week, month and another year. In which most of us will get an opportunity for a fresh start in 2019.
This coming year will be strides apart from our usual years of past. We don’t feel like it’s a fresh start or something to celebrate. Last night, it seemed more important for us to just “be,” to talk when we wanted too as well be distracted by a movie. Then, later on, admire the colourful fireworks from our balcony. Not sure when we will feel like celebrating this New Year. Just not yet. Maybe never.
Getting bad news at any time of the year is never welcome. It’s arrival during the festive season. Sucks. Being unwell during the festive season is a significant downer when it feels like a requirement to have a cheerful disposition before stepping out the front door. It has made me feel like Mrs Grinch.
Our Grinch-like thoughts, feelings of anger, sadness and wanting to do a F*cketlist all started a few months ago. When the Squire went for his yearly medical, if you don’t want to be sick, don’t go to a doctor.
A medical, nothing extraordinary about that. The findings were to be astonishing and hold a few surprises. What the tests confirmed was that the Squire had an enlarged spleen and liver. Then came the multiple blood tests, more scans and the big mama of all excruciating pain, a bone marrow biopsy.
Not long to wait. Just weeks.
I scream he is too young, only 60. He is my gentle indestructible giant.
We lived in denial. Nothing is wrong. We have hope.
One day at a time. We repeated it on a daily basis. It was our mantra.
Don’t plan. Just yet. Time is on our side.
Don’t google. It only creates more questions. It answers none at all.
We can do this. We are strong. We are a team.
Before we knew it, the Squire had an appointment. The 31st December was to be “D” day. The day after International Bacon Day.
With a few large shots of caffeine and an even more significant amount of apprehensiveness, we are ready as we would ever be to make those final steps into the Cancer Centre. It seems quieter than usual as we greet and meet with a few pleasantries while at the same time screaming “Well come on, tell us for goodness sake”.
I jest of course as I don’t want to hear what she has to say.
Yes, I do.
What did she say?
No, I don’t want to know!
In my mind, my hands are covering my ears.
She quietly spoke the test results; now it’s a reality.
Please, can you write it down?
It’s name is Myelofibrosis. It is an uncommon type of chronic leukaemia. Very rare. We don’t do things by half measures!!
Is it now time to write up that F*UKetLIST.?
Maybe it’s time to reflect as reality slowly penetrates our fog filled minds. Time will tell.
The days have muddled all together had to know what day it is! So, what have our days been like since we got back to New Zealand and before the diagnosis?
Most days, the Squire looks like any regular guy. It LOOKS like we are living La Vida Loca in laidback Bay of Plenty with good health. Like everything in social media, we all share our highlight reel, don’t we?
The truth is, behind the scenes, it is so much harder than that.
The reality is that he is ill and has been for a while. He is tired all the time. I scream he is too young, only 60. How come my Squire has aged so much. Of course, I know the answer, I still ask the question. He was indestructible or so I thought. He is my rock. Why him? Why not me?
I ask a million times, “Are you OK?”
It used to be, “Of course, just the usual back pain.” Now that conversation is extended to more areas of his body. What can it be? Could it be? I can’t fix it. I struggle to WRITE those words. I have no right words.
There will be more days that we will bury our heads in the sand and pretend it isn’t there.
If we can’t physically see it. It won’t hurt us. ‘Build that Bridge’ is our attitude. Inside I quietly cry because I’m scared. Right to the core. I don’t always feel strong, writing this has made me realise that today is one of those days or I should say early morning. The time to be precise is 4 a.m., who needs sleep. This is my truth. My reality.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Okay, this just got way too serious and sad.
I don’t usually write about life being too serious and sad. That’s reality and life for too many. This blog will still be about us, walks, warts and all. Perhaps not travel for a while yet. Too soon to sort that one out and too much else to organise. I shall write more about New Zealand and our neighbourhood. With inclusions of dust covered posts from previous years highlights that I still haven’t completed.
We won’t make cancer our story.
It isn’t our story.
It is just there.
Now we need to write up that F*UKetLIST.
Where to start?
More sunrises. Break more rules. Don’t put off doing things. More sunsets. More icecreams.