Search This Blog

Friday 5 July 2013

It's not you, it's me.

I'm the one that's clog-popping.  I am happy to take the emotional stuff from my family but find it hard to deal with other people's sorrow.  Qualify that: HWISO is learning first not to pat me on the head and tell me how sorry he is - he is a fast learner. 

On that point, I have noticed it seems to be the children's friends who have no hesitation in giving me a hug and then carrying on as normal.  Whether it is because they have a gift for denial or just instinctively know that is the way I want to be treated, I don't know.  I am very glad they are not taking their behavioural cues from their parents, sometimes.  (Secretly, I think it is because they KNOW that people who put their head on one side and try to look sympathetic merely look constipated.)

I had a visit from by dear friend, B, this morning, who arrived on a high of nervous anxiety and had motor-mouthitis for the first 10 minutes.  I think she was afraid I would fall off my perch before she had said her bit.  Luckily for all, I hung on.   

For your information, B, YOU got your d better, not me.  E, you look bloody fantastic and I promise to try and sort out that list you gave me.

So moving on from "How do you treat a cancer patient" to "How do you treat someone who is dying" is a bit more difficult.  It very much depends on the person.  I am of the "I'm not dying, just living a shorter life than expected." school.  Ergo, I find the onslaught of attention somewhat confusing.  Why on earth do people suddenly want to see me?

Poor S and N have been trying to arrange something over a weekend when N is over from Yerp.  Sadly, it is my birthday weekend, the Fairy Blogmother's visit and there is a party which may need attending.  It really is nothing personal.  It's just bad timing.

C has the cutest puppy which I really want to snuggle.  She lives a long way away and has offered to come visit but I fear our dogs would eat the puppy in two mouthfuls which would rather negate the purpose the visit.  (C, you are lovely an' all but a puppy is a puppy!).

Other C wants to come visit too.  I worry that she would find our chaotic, dog-haired, teenagers-do-not have-the-ability-to-hang-up-a-towel, let alone put away clean washing and my washing machine has a wire from a bra stuck in it and I can't be bothered to go to the laundrette just now, house a health hazard.  Either that or she would spend the whole time cleaning it and then cleaning our hoovers which is not the purpose of her visit.

Prof T wants me to go to lunch at the Ritz - way cool.

I own one pair of black heels and one pair of summer party shoes - because I am not a party person.  We never go out, if we can possibly help it.  Ergo, the thought of all this socialising has sent me back to bed with curtains drawn and a severe case of social anxiety.  (Would insert winky faced emoticon but don't know how!).

Back to the original theme of this blog post.  It really isn't you.  It's not that I don't like you or want to see you or anything of the sort.  It is just that if I go to see one person, then I feel obliged to see everyone else and that makes me dizzy with exhaustion at the mere thought.  I am also still reeling from the shock of everything - not just the diagnosis but the attitude of a prospective school to the diagnosis and pastoral care concerns, the teenage daughters' social schedule, HWISO's birthday on Sunday, the immediate family and the fact that Wimbledon is on and needs watching.

The Fairy Blogmother gets to visit for work.  And because she loves me.

Everyone else may just have to wait a while.....


  1. Aw c'mon, whose going to turn down a visit from the Fairy Blogmother?!! (well OK, actually I would because I would be scared, but you have more of the social skillz than me...).

  2. Anonymous06 July, 2013

    Ha ha - I'm with you Red!!!! xxxx