As with small children who misbehave, distraction was the
key to managing my temperament. So a couple of days before Christmas I asked my
daughters if they wanted to go shopping and get a coffee. With a big heart I
told them I would treat them to an expensive Frappuccino at Starbucks. My large white chocolate icy drink had a mound of
whipped cream on top and looked delicious. I decided to take the plastic top
off the cup and delve into the high calorie cream first. The cup slipped out
from under the lid and the whole thing tipped over. The grande frappuccino went
sliding across our little cafeteria table like a mini-avalanche and dripped on
to the tiled floor. My face flamed. As I was now attributing every physical
fluff-up to my cancer, I cursed it for making me so clumsy. The girls bless
them, jumped into action. Abby asked for another frappuccino (which they
provided free of charge, thanks S-bucks) and Charlotte helped me clean up the
sticky mess. But the best thing they did was laugh. They didn’t act embarrassed
or horrified. Instead they thought their mother was hysterical. So I laughed
too. They were angels. But, at a new table with my new frappuccino, I wondered
what else I was in for. Was the clumsiness an indication of future
cancer-induced pratfalls? A good friend’s husband died from cancer several
years earlier. She told me she knew he was getting near the end when he
couldn’t remember how to drive. Was knocking over the frappuccino the beginning
of a bigger fall into an Alzheimer’s like state of oblivion?
We got home about 5pm and Alex was
already home. It was very early for him. I knew he was finding it hard to
concentrate at work, poor thing. He was wrapping presents. I had a feeling he
had over-spent on me to compensate for my appalling state of health. But I
wasn’t going to complain. If it made him feel better to spoil me this
Christmas, then that was fine.
Although
my daughters and Christmas shopping were great diversions, I was on edge. Each
day brought me closer to the end. It was like I could hear a clock ticking my
life away. Two days before Christmas the phone rang and I jumped. Was it the
hospital? Did they find something else? Should I answer it and really spoil
Christmas? I took my chances. With trembling hands I picked up the phone and
offered a weak “hello?” Whatever it was I would deal with it.
It
turned out to be Godfreys telling me the vacuum cleaner bags I had ordered were
ready. My fear was beginning to rule my life.
I
received a letter from North Shore hospital telling me I had an MRI scheduled
for December 29th which was
in about a week’s time. I couldn’t help a bit of gallows humour:
“I
guess they think I’m going to live that long”.
As
the days passed I became consumed with my personal tragedy. My family had to
endure every difficult moment. The stress had gathered and made tight knots
between my neck and shoulders. Charlotte gave me a neck massage. Abby listened
to my every rant. Alex kept my wine glass topped up.
To
continue distracting me from my illness, the girls suggested we go into
Auckland to the department store Smith and Caugheys to see the Christmas window
display. Little elves and fake snow surprisingly did help me to forget. We
walked up the hill to Sky City by the Sky Tower. There was a huge Christmas
tree in the foyer, decorated with ribbons and balls. We paused and I was lost
in thought. I pictured the anticipation of girls and boys running from their
bedrooms to their own Christmas trees to open presents. I remembered the looks
on my own daughters’ faces when they discovered Santa had been. I remember Abby
being so excited opening a present at age five, she actually screamed in a
pitch that got dogs barking. When I asked her what was inside the wrapping, she
said: “I don’t know!” It didn’t matter. It was Christmas and everything was
magic.
No comments:
Post a Comment