He's done it! Anyone who's been reading their blog will know how bloody hard it's been - but finally - after a final 8 hour misery stretch with barely enough oxygen to blow up a balloon, James (Glass) and his mates have made it to the top of Aconagua. Thanks to everyone who has already donated to his super worthy cause - he already has £3,500 to give to The Haven - and counting.
James is third from right in red - small but efficient. Well bloody done cousin!
While some of us are climbing mountains, others are having trouble climbing the stairs. The idea of walking uphill for 8 hours a day just fills me with horror. I have been reassured (sort of) that pains in the leg muscles and joints is par for the course after chemo - particularly the one I've been given - but living in a tall thin house like this one is driving me nuts. I long to live in an appartment where every room is on the same level, and I don't have to spend an hour weighing up the pros and cons of getting a glass of water. I imagine this is what it feels like to be old. I'm sure that all the lying around hasn't helped, and as my newly arrived booklet 'Coping with Fatigue' suggests a walk every day I've been trying to put that into practice. Yesterday once around Clissold Park with Geraldine, today twice round with Helen - and amazingly my legs do seem to be loosening up a little.
Another good weekend - kicked off by a trip to the opera to see La Traviata with Pippa and Nick. Thoroughly enjoyed every minute despite its uncanny parallels with my own life. Could feel everyone holding their breath uneasily throughout Act III as they suddenly remembered how long and drawn out Violetta's death scene actually is - but they needn't have worried - I found it all strangely cathartic. Have made a mental note to stock up on long frilly white nightdresses next time I'm in JL.
Saturday was filled with kids activities and on Sunday I made lunch for Geraldine, Tom and children which was lovely and normal.
There's been some discussion here about my head. Or rather my hair. Having now relegated wigs, scarves and the like to the back of the wardrobe, making do with a new cordouroy cap to brave the elements, the kids are not happy. Not at all happy. They are thrilled to be having friends round on Wednesday for a belated pancake day - sorry - best I could do - but starting to neurose about what I will be wearing (or not) on my head. Luc is afraid that people will laugh at me and therefore laugh at him (a fate worse than death) and Emily is still pretending that none of this is happening - so both have a vested interest in getting me wigged up for Wed. The au pair said she thought they were both being incredibly selfish and that they should support me, whatever I looked like - and that it isn't all that bad anyway - but I could see it both ways. I don't want to embarrass them, but nor do I want to walk around my own home feeling hot and uncomfortable - and if I'm really honest - I'm quite proud of my new super soft crop. What the kids don't realise is that children don't really care about other people's parents - only their own - but I guess that's enough.
I can't believe that I only have one more day of this relative freedom before I will once again be a slave to the treatment. I remember at the beginning of chemo, counting each one off and trying to constantly juggle the numbers in my head - 2 down, a third of the way etc. Five weeks every day just seems insurmountable at this moment, although of course I know it isn't. Just another mountain to climb.
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