Honesty… such a lonely word.

What a stunningly beautiful and sunny day it was today!  HRH Prince Charles and his wife picked a picture perfect day to wander around Ottawa.  It was a little cool, but not enough to need more than a light sweater or shawl, certainly not enough for a coat!  I was not out, partly because my back was stabbing me and partly because I had bookings.  Jerry is sulking, because there were incursions into his house by my lay minister, and then a long phone call this afternoon.  Don was feeling more active and energetic today, which is good! we watched one of our recorded programs (the PVR is getting full! 😳) so we’ve got to clear off some stuff.  As with anyone else, I’d be fine to erase a number of shows that Don’s recorded, and he’d like to erase a few of mine, but we’ve agreed not to touch each other’s shows and we watch and erase certain shows together.  But the temptation is a real thing, I tell you!  My shows better not disappear next week, is all I’m saying!  Many thanks to my adopted big brother (#ABB) Larry for the lilacs.  He’s easily the most talented floral arranger / cook / event host / gardener ever, and the sweetest person you could ever hope to meet!  Big hug!

Last year on this date, I woke up and got out of bed, while my legs collapsed under me and I went to the hospital for a scan… and they kept me for 6 weeks, removing a spinal tumour and leaving me with an adamantium spine.  That’s the story I’m using, because it kind of makes me feel like Wolverine and provides a super-ish power-like thing.  I’m running out of operable areas — the scars on my torso are many and varied — and there are fewer months that do not have an association with surgery / cancer / treatment.  My sisters gave me a bit of encouragement, reminding me that despite all of the trauma (and let’s not pretend that it’s anything but traumatic!) I’m here, still smiling.  My other sister suggested that I celebrate all these many markers, and make notes to celebrate the weeks where I have no painful associations.  I’ll definitely have to work on that.  

All right, that’s enough diversion for now.  I told my dad this afternoon.  I made a mistake by calling him about an hour earlier than usual, so he instantly went into worry mode.  I took a few moments to try to calm him down, then I told him that I was going to start chemotherapy next week, and because of the schedule it would be easier if I were in hospital instead of commuting.  When I explained the programme, he agreed that being on site was a better idea, and then he started saying that he hoped that everything would be ok, but I could hear the worry in his voice.  He said that he would be praying all night for me, and I thanked him for that (my father didn’t usually pray until my initial diagnosis back in 2012, but he’s been more regular with his church attendance since then.)  My cousin said that she would be talking to my aunt (his sister) to let her know about me, and so she could call her big brother to offer him some support.  I’m very grateful for that.  That aunt, back in 2017, had called me the day before my scheduled appointment to tell me that everything would be ok, and that the doctors were wrong.  I was confused, because I wasn’t expecting anything — it was just a regular session.  But that was when the doctor told me that I was incurable and had 4 months left.  As it happens, she was right, and I’ve been in awe of her approach ever since.  She’s adorable, and like the rest of my family, I wish that I could see her a bit more often.  It’s good to know that he will have support, so I can move that worry away and not think about it any more.  I know, too, that daddy’s friends, after reading this, will reach out to him and give him the encouragement he needs so he won’t worry himself into a real illness.

Thanks to all of you for your support and encouragement.  I’m going to be brazen and make a request for my cheer-up-the-patient stuff for next week:  puppies (of all sizes and breeds); your kids (especially the ones I’ve already met); flowers; fun jokes; emails; assorted messages; books and your prayers.  I really appreciate these things, particularly as I’m fairly certain that I’m not allowed visitors again.  I won’t know until after I’m admitted next Monday night, but they’re still super-vigilant at the hospital, and trebly so for cancer patients with compromised immune systems.  Good night everyone, and dream well!