has the pathology report and let’s Rex know today. Everyone is asking. I’m waiting and it’s a week today. More than enough time… It will be such a relief to have him home. I have maintained my writing each morning. It has been helpful. I’m starting to feel raw around the edges, a little vulnerable. Hopefully, the waiting will stop today.
Still autumn days are here. I want to plant on the weekend. I need to spend time in the garden. I want to make the most of autumn, of this time with Rex.
Thursday 8/3/01
Rex is coming home today. He read his own pathology report. Hearing the voices of Mum and our friends last night was wonderful. Relief abounded. Rex is safe, cleared of cancer. They’re all surer than I am. I’m still thinking about the first report and penetration into the lymph.
Friday 9/3/01
A long weekend coming up, not at Apollo Bay as planned but home here at Montmorency. We just had a nooky. It is a signal, a big sign of life, of living, of the need to mate, especially after facing the possibility of death.
Dawn is coming through slowly. Faint bluey greys and pink streak across the sky beyond the trees. There is no light on the trees yet. Birdcall is easily heard in the stillness of the morning.
No residual sign of melanoma. Wonderful report.7 It couldn’t be better. The specialist said everything’s okay. There was no sharing of the report, no talk of the possibility of further problems or the need for any follow up. Rex asked the nurse for a copy of the report. I will show it to David Lester and ask if anything needs to be followed up.
I have a funny feeling of limbo, of let down. Even though everything has worked out well, I feel flat, super tired. Maybe it’s post traumatic stress syndrome like fighters after the war. The threat is over but I’m taking time to assimilate that fact.
I just stroked his forehead. Seeing him sleeping and resting in bed beside me while I write is comforting. We’re almost back to normal. I have to play nursemaid for a week or so then all will be well. Perhaps I should wear short skirts and no knickers so he can play with me when he has his pills.
The sky is becoming lighter as I write, the birds noisier. Maybe I should walk the dogs earlier, then again maybe not.
Saturday 10/3/01
There is a shooting pain in my collarbone and the side of my neck. Something is going on inside me. I am hurting, grieving, not freed from threats as yet.
Day after day the writing goes on and I never look back, righting my world by writing. I’ve never been one to dwell in the past. I solved the pain of the past by moving on, finding new hopes and dreams and pursuits.
Later. My stiff neck has eased off. It’s a reaction to the shock and grief. It’s always a delayed reaction with me, held back so I can do what I have to do.
Tuesday 14/3/01
Rex was very restless last night. His legs were continually moving, hurting. There is no way of knowing if this is what to expect or not. He is tolerant of his confinement, ready to do what it takes. I’m enjoying having him so close for so long. Sunlight is starting to filter through the trees.
9.00pm In bed early to read. I’m very unsettled at the moment, fragile, easily upset. Thursday is the big day with the specialist. Is the cancer in his system? The possibility exists so we need to chase that down. Then perhaps I will stop hurting.
Thursday 15/3/01
Two tails are wagging at me. Walk they ask? No way! Each time I wake in the early morning my neck and head feel like they’re in a vice, squeezing, squeezing. Today is the day to see the plastic surgeon. I dislike the man intensely. He is offensive, insulting to women, arrogant and unable or unwilling to communicate, or form a relationship.
Back again. I feel lighter in my heart. Rex is on the mend. The
specialist talked about the rats and mice men8 and the reason for his referral. It was hard for Rex. He didn’t expect to have to follow up. No one had explained to him like David did to me that the tumour had penetrated the lymph. That is the major threat. How major we have yet to determine.
Friday 16/3/01
It’s a greyish day in paradise. The dogs are fed and watered, and waiting to be walked. Rex is by my side reading the papers. The king parrots were back yesterday. There were lots of lorikeets, some eastern rosellas and Rex saw two crimson rosellas. It’s good to have the range of birds back. I can’t imagine our house without them.
Saturday 17/3/01
Rain, rain glorious rain. The garden beds are wet for the first time in ages. Outside is dark and grey with a little sun starting to show its presence. I’m sure the thirsty grass and trees lapped up the welcome drink.
There’s no seed left. The birds have eaten it all and a crimson rosella is about. What a bugger! We’ve done well with the birds here. Number twenty-three is a place for birds to find food and water and hang about.
I have lots of work on the horizon but I can’t apply myself. We’re into the waiting game again. This time it’s the Ludwig Institute and worrying what will happen there.
Sunday 18/3/01
I wonder if Rex will continue for much longer at work. Hopefully, he will be well enough to make the decision, not have the decision made for him. The dogs are quiet again. They have been fed and are now in front of the fire so peace reigns again.
Monday 19/3/01
Rex is still asleep beside me. Outside is still, quiet and grey. The forecast is for nearly a week of damp, drizzle and rain ahead. I don’t mind grey and damp. Grey is one of my favourite colours and wet equals green and growth.
It was a big day yesterday. The wounds were uncovered, both the skin graft on his foot and the donor site on his thigh. Rex spent ages hesitantly pulling at the bandages to loosen them. Instinct says to keep the wounds covered but healing requires them to be uncovered. He then allowed the shower to sluice gently over them. Healing is a slow and painful process.
Wednesday 21/3/01
I’m worried that Rex is too static. He is not walking at all. He’s worried about opening the wounds.
There are precious few calls and no emails. The world has gone away. Panic has subsided and we are on our own once more, just like when someone dies. It is the aftermath that is lonely.
The sun is shining. It is a beautiful day out there. I’m going to meet the day, meet the sun, bask in its warmth, bathe in its light and trust all will be okay in my world.
Thursday 22/3/01
I still haven’t written to anyone. I’m waiting for the Ludwig Institute. Somewhere deep inside I’m not sure what is happening. Soon we’ll start the next and even scarier process. If the melanoma is in Rex’s system, the chance of removing it all with local excision is virtually impossible. I don’t want to know. I’m already feeling I can’t cope.
I’ve been hesitating about planting the Rex Robustas.9 They will be flying in the face of what I feel. Perhaps I should plant them for me instead so I will grow stronger with them. I am the one who needs symbols of hope.
