Sunday, 4 March 2012
THE COFFEE POT IS IN THE BOX WITH SOCKS
The headache wakes me like an alarm clock and I have breakfast – coffee and extra-strength Advil – then I wait for the ache to dull.
Now headache free, I am listening to Sarah McLachlan & sitting in the most disastrous room at Chez Hoarder, my studio – soon to be my studio and bedroom. I’ve cleared boxes of treasures and along with it stuff you could file under What-in-hell-did-I-think-I-would-do-with-that-? I’m waiting for pickups on an old desk, a pine table and a cheap bookcase that hurls a shelf of books at me if I dare disturb it by trying to remove just one. Good riddance to homicidal furniture, I say.
Thanks to Bill and Heather, we made headway yesterday dividing the room in half.
I know where the bed, dress and computer desk will go now. Bill moved my shelves to their new location & I’ve put the beads back. But I’m at the packing stage where you stick a coffee pot and socks into the same box. So far (and don’t think I’m not proud of this) I haven’t collapsed in the middle of the rubble and wept out of sheer frustration & exhaustion. I don’t function well in chaos.
I don’t see the neurosurgeon until March 15th and I’m trying to get most of this done by the end of this week, in-between appointments for an MRI, CT scan, blood test and consultation with both my oncologists. And then, if things work out, P. will fetch me off to Port Mouton – where I will walk on the beach, eat, drink and be generally merry.
The headaches will get worse and vertigo will set in, in which case I can’t go far from the Infirmary’s Emergency Department and Brain Repair Clinic.
I’m hoping for the former.
Friday, I added Wendy’s name to all my bank accounts. We didn’t say the “D” word, but it loomed, as it has a tendency to do, anyway. Now if I (insert “D” word), they cannot close my accounts and Wendy can pay my bills. Planning for your own death (to hell with not saying it) is a morbid but necessary chore. And who would ever have imagined it triples the tedious paperwork you have to do? But it’s a matter of hoping for the best and planning for the worst. You grit your teeth and you do it. You joke with the bank clerks, smile. You are patient when they aren’t sure what to do & it takes a little longer. Still here. No reason to be miserable.
Meanwhile, Dr. Bowes tells me we don’t have to go there yet. There are still things to try. Whether he’s right or wrong, I hope there’s some place of honor in the next life for doctors as kind and supportive as him.
We shall see. My bucket list has two items. 1. To see Port Mouton in summer & 2. To visit the lavender fields on the west coast of Nova Scotia in September.
Wish me luck? And if you have a truck and two big strong guys with good backs – send them over! I’ll buy the beer! Adios muchachos! Talk to you soon.