The treatment begins.
So I set this thing up and then wasn’t sure where to begin. At the risk of this reading like a 16 year old’s Dear Diary entry I’ll start with Wednesday morning the 13th of Jan. (If this was my 16-year-old self’s diary entry it would read something like this… “Dear Diary, I haven’t long turned sixteen and I’m still waiting for my boobs to grow. I am NOT happy. (Wails dramatically) I feel like it’s never going to happen”. FYI it never did.
Back to Wednesday the 13th of Jan 2021… The alarm went off at 5 am, I sprung out of bed and got busy packing clothes and other important stuff to leave by 9.30 am for our six weeks in Melbourne. Sorry… that’s a lie… that’s what was supposed to happen but instead when the alarm went off at 5am I hit snooze. Then when it went off 10 minutes later, I hit stop. Sets the theme for the whole day right there. Leaving everything until the last minute is my superpower (coughs).
When I woke a few hours later I felt like I was laying under multiple weighted blankets and not my light weight summer quilt. I was tired. My Aunt was popping in early morning for any last-minute instructions for house sitting duties so I reached for my phone and sent the following message…
There is absolutely no way I’ll be on the road by 9.30 am – I have come to the conclusion I am constantly delusional with the space of time. Be more like 11.30 am if I’m lucky and I am bestowed some sort of divine intervention from above creating a tiny miracle just for me… again, delusional!
Then I scrolled through Instagram. Big mistake. HUGE mistake. Time sucking beast (but a much prettier and kinder beast than Facebook).
We pulled out of the drive at 1 pm. My mother was not at all surprised. Says it all! Knows me well.
The last few months was a turbulent whirlwind but the week leading up to this day had been the most ‘testing’. Phone call, after phone call, after phone call trying to confirm accommodation with the funding body, the confirmation of start dates, the hospital clarifying info, unexpected dentist appointments (Doug should not gnaw on chop bones), not to mention the eleventy billion laps of the house not achieving anything. I even caught myself triple pivoting on the spot changing my mind about the direction and mission mid stride. Moves my line dancing mother would be proud of.
Finalising plans and getting all the people that needed to chat to each other actually chatting to each other with Christmas / New Year holidays and staggered return to work dates thrown in for shits and giggles is quite the nightmare. I do not recommend it for one’s sanity.
I still have my hair (not all pulled out), all parties involved were very professional and friendly (when the phone line gods actually aligned the planets enabling chatting to happen) and we made it to Melbourne unscathed. Except for the close call with a knob driving a white shiny Jaguar who didn’t like my 14-year-old Chrysler having right of way on all of the road that he wanted for himself. *rolls eyes*
First radiation treatment was today (Thursday the 14th) and Doug coped really, really well. While lying on the table/bed for treatment Doug wears a face mask (moulded during a previous appointment) that is clipped down into the table keeping him still while the radiation beam does its thing. It’s not for the faint hearted. His mental strength and resilience never ever cease to amaze me.
But I’ll have to tell you all about that and more tomorrow. This little duck has been paddling away in the roof top pool that overlooks Albert Park Lake, the bay beyond and the city earlier this evening and she’s exhausted from the many laps she swam… again… I lie… I may have managed a few side strokes while gazing in awe at the city lights and ships lit up out on the bay. Yes, that’s as awful as it sounds. Feeling very privileged for the added bonus of a roof top pool at our accommodation and also feeling a little out of place when I’ve been up there. It feels sooooo luxurious. I’m more of a 4ft round above ground Clark Rubber pool in the back yard kinda girl. I’ll pop up there every day and try to get used to it though (*winks*).
For now, I’ll leave you with two thoughts. Doug is very settled and comfortable in bed cutting lots of fire wood (read as snoring his head off). The Instagram scrolling from Wednesday morning wasn’t a total time-wasting procrastinating exercise because this gem from @charliemackesy popping up in my feed was quite a poignant and appropriate pause in time.
“This storm is making me tired,” said the boy.
“Storms get tired too,” said the horse, “so hold on.”
We’ll keep holding on. First treatment down, only 29 to go.
Yours with much love,
PS: Thanks for being here. xo