04/02/16- Weston-Super-Mare: After completing chemo two- skulking around inside of me was a fear that I would ‘hit the wall’- regarding treatment somewhere between chemos three and four.
The point of ‘no return’.
As far to carry on as it is to turn back.
Three down. Three still to get through.
So during the heady days of my chemo two liberation stage I had promised myself a little holiday. If well enough after chemo three I would travel to see my beautiful girls and be beside the seaside, beside the sea!
Visiting with my friends I knew, would replenish my stores and give me the strength to see my chemo through to its uncertain conclusion.
As I may have mentioned in a previous post or two (Yes, we’ve got it Roobiee-stop going on!) my recovery from this third chemo has taken a tad longer than it did for the last two. Three of the seven chemo dwarves; Grumpy, Sleepy and Mardy far outstayed their welcome leaving me contemplating whether my Weston seaside dream could in fact, become reality.
But after much shillying and shallying about deliberating over my capacity to re-engage with polite society given my recent emotional and psychological state- which let’s be honest had unravelled itself into exactly that- a bit of a bloody state: I finally awoke yesterday as you know, to find that the dwarves had left the building!
And because precious time was ticking on hurtling me headlong towards my next toxic top-up with only a week of ‘normal’ left in me, I wasted no more time procrastinating and booked my train for today.
So here I am!
A thick fog descending as my train pulls into Weston station. I can feel it damp on my cheeks as I clamber into one of those overly expensive, way too convenient, hang around the station for a gullible lazybones with no local numbers to step off the train, type taxis!
And as we cruise up the seafront chatting about Denby pottery of all things and John Carpenter’s 1980 movie, ‘The Fog’ obviously, I peer through the glass my eyes hungrily searching for a glimpse of the sea.
Anyone familiar with my beloved Weston-Super-Mare will know that being able to see the sea here is not always a given as the tide goes out so very, very far.
Today though even with the fog crawling in, I see her…pulsing and rolling beneath a heavy sky…the comforting life force of something without ending- here long before me and here when I am long gone…
It’s freeing somehow too.
Some coastal snobbery would have you believe that Weston’s is an ugly sea but for me that’s as ridiculous as saying that some babies are ugly!…and I’m no cooing, baby mad lady! (more a cuckoo, maybe bag lady!!!)
The sea is always beautiful.
A vast array of blue, grey, green and a myriad shades in between; wondrous in her serenity, awesome in her brutality and hypnotic in the beat of her mighty heart.
Miss Luce’s cat and I sit in silence on the couch waiting for our loved one to return from a day at the salt mines. I’ve let myself in much to the apparent disappointment of my feline companion.
We share an uneasy relationship this puss cat and me, one born of tolerance and gratitude-she tolerating my presence and me being ever so grateful for that!
I nod nonchalantly in her direction sliding my hand across the space between us stealth-like, in an attempt to cement our most recent reunion with a little sneaky stroke but she’s too cute and catches me in a mind control stare, shooting me a look which says “drop the hand, dude…or lose it forever!” My hand makes a hasty retreat and I admonish myself inwardly for rushing what is inevitably always a three day courtship.
Before long the door opens and there stands our lovely Miss Luce full of smiles and hugs enough for the both of us; though I get mine first and throw pussy-le-chat a smug smile!
So once again we two (and I’m not talking about the cat here) become us three as we hook up with our marvellous Miss Macey for a long weekend of lunching and shopping (mostly me!) and chatting and shopping (me again!) and laughing and shopping (me! me! and me!!!)
We watch films together, slob about in Pjs together and dress up to dine out together. And apart from the shiny bald bonce sitting between two blonde bombshells- no one would begin to imagine that the giggling trio perched at the Sushi bar sharing wine and silly jokes, are currently navigating together and in quieter moments alone- one of the most painfully sad times in the history of their forty year friendship.
And so the rich tapestry of our weekend is woven as it always is, with absolute pearls, golden moments and silver linings. And just as I knew I would, I feel my reserves begin to swell and rise within me and I know whatever chemo four has in store for me, I’m going to make it through.