Great Diversions

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 29^th  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.