‘How am I supposed to know what you say to other people?’ I ranted.
‘You are doing great,’ he said. ‘There, I just told you.’
‘Yes, but I practically put the words in your mouth,’ I snarled, ‘so it doesn’t count.’
Then I’m thinking I should change my single therapy session to marriage guidance sessions. As soon as chemo is over I will be getting onto a bloody counsellor to show Rhodri what a complete and utter selfish bastard he is.
December 1, Friday
Tomorrow’s today! Those were the words Elis screamed from his darkened room this morning. It’s the first of December – COUNTDOWN TO CHRISTMAS. We have six Advent calendars in our house, three for Elis and three for Osh. Elis woke Osh up by turning his light on and thrusting a sweet into his mouth, which he promptly spat out, saying, ‘Don’t want it.’ He didn’t want the two chocolates from his other Advent calendars either, which left me no option but to eat them myself.
After an entire year of waiting, Christmas is well and truly on its way. I banned Elis from talking about Christmas in about February because I couldn’t stand an entire year of it. I lament the loss of Christmas so much myself; I don’t want it to be over. I think what I like about it so much is that all the family are together and it’s a two-week holiday where it’s OK to stay in the house and not do much, which is what I like doing best. There’s no large itinerary planned out for the day before you even open your eyes, no agenda to be up at seven and off by nine, just leisurely long mornings spent in your pyjamas and not bothering to bath the children and letting them eat as much crap as they like because it’s Christmas.
Even Rhodri subscribes to the ‘must have a rest at Christmas’ philosophy. Last year he didn’t have much of an option as he was in bed with a bad back for most of the holiday.
The previous year we had stayed at my parents’ – in bunk beds – and he was on top (as it were). In his haste to get down to see the children’s faces when they saw their presents, he fell out of the top bunk and broke two of his ribs. He didn’t tell anyone about it for days because ‘he didn’t want to make a fuss’! I’m hoping this year he will actually be able to get out of bed on a voluntary basis.
Elis still thinks that twenty-five days is too long to wait until Christmas. Last year around about this time he was very tired one night and was crying, which is very much out of character as he rarely cries, and when he does you know it’s something serious, and I said, ‘What’s wrong?’ He said, ‘It’s just Christmas – it’s so long to wait,’ and I said, ‘But you’ve got your calendar now and you’re counting down.’ And he said, ‘Have you seen how many chocolates are on that calendar? It’ll take for ever.’
Oh, how I wish twenty-five days were a lifetime to me. But I suppose they could be. Why not turn time on its head and instead of thinking about it as time running out and life being short, I could be like my darling Elis and view time in all its fabulous glory. Twenty-five wonderful days to have to wait, each one of them as special as the next.
Instead of wishing my chemo were over and my radiotherapy were over and that we were going on holiday and thinking that I’d have to start work and how will I live with the threat of cancer returning and how would I face that again and wishing away months and years of my entire life . . . I could spend my time just being in it, just savouring each precious moment. Every time tomorrow is today I will resolve to do that.
December 2, Saturday
In Llanelli at the Cawdor Hotel for Rhodri’s mother’s sixtieth birthday. Hotel lovely, food lovely, company lovely. Rhodri had to stay with Osh until nine as he wouldn’t sleep but eventually he went off. No possibility of having hotel sex as all in the same room. Me, Rhodri and the children that is, not the entire family.
December 3, Sunday
I feel a little bit hungover today after the meal last night. Rhodri and I were the last men standing. I had a terrible night’s sleep. I could kill Rhodri sometimes. It was blowing a gale outside so it was difficult to sleep anyway, PLUS, twice in the middle of the night Rhodri turned the telly on to see the score in the Ashes. We had been unable to find the remote control so both times it came on at full volume, waking me up with such a start I thought someone had died, and waking Osh up into the bargain. It had me saying very loudly, ‘Turn that fucking telly off NOW.’ He’s mental.
We had lunch in a really nice restaurant nearby but Osh wouldn’t sit down; he was running around and some old bags upstairs complained about the children. My attitude was, ‘Fuck them’. The kids weren’t being badly behaved, they were just being children.
Then a woman asked me if the children could avoid eating dessert on their leather sofas as they were very expensive and would have to be recovered if they got ice cream on them. Suddenly the working-class chip on my shoulder was prompting me to say: ‘I know how much leather sofas cost – mine was shipped over from Italy, you stupid bitch, and if they get any ice cream on them I’ll give you a packet of wet wipes to bloody well clean it off, just as I do with mine.’
But instead I said, ‘At the table, children,’ to Cari and Elis and sat there and ate my ice cream. Then I looked and saw that Osh’s arm was completely covered in chocolate mousse and he had been rolling it all over the ‘very expensive’ leather sofa, so I did have to get out my wet wipes and give it a once-over when the snooty cow was not looking. Came up a treat, it did.
December 4, Monday
I slept for ten and a half hours last night. It was bloody heaven. I cannot remember when I last slept that long. I lay on our bed with Osh because he was refusing to go off to sleep and was stood in his cot shouting, ‘Mummy, I want to come out!’ at the top of his voice. It was about 8.30 and before I knew it, it was an hour later, Rhodri was taking Osh to his cot and I cleaned my teeth and just stayed there all night without waking once. The heating coming on at seven, as opposed to six, when it had been waking me, is working because I don’t wake until seven now. So I feel great for the sleep. As predicted though, coming off my supplements I have snivels immediately, a bit of a runny nose and a tight chest with a cough. I am willing my white blood cells to hang in there and keep up their spirits. I visualise them as little soldiers fighting the good fight against everything that is thrown at them, the poor buggers – like that battle scene in The Lord of the Rings when you think, Bloody hell, they are so not going to win this, they are completely outnumbered – and everything that could be hurled at them is, but they win.
Saw Kylie on Sky News entertainment – God, she looks fantastic and a bit of weight really suits her. Well, weight in Kylie’s terms is slightly different to weight in my terms. I would be very happy with her hair. I wonder what the texture will be, as they say it can be different from before. Maybe instead of being curly it will be straight and sleek, and I will be dyeing it this fab red colour that is my wig.
I quite like the idea of very short hair and think that when it grows back I won’t be as obsessed with it looking perfect as I was before. Much as I love my wig, and it has really made me feel great about myself at a time when I really need it, I will be glad to get my own hair back.
Four days into December and I have broken open one of Osh’s Advent calendars and eaten the rest of the chocolates. I thought, I’ll only have one, so opened the 5th, then thought, Fuck it, they have four calendars, since Sioned gave them another one at the weekend. I think she must have forgotten she had already given them one. And Osh is only two, so he doesn’t know what time of day it is and my need is greater than his. Ooh, am feeling a bit guilty about eating them now, and a bit sick.
I am scrubbing the interior of the fireplace. No, I haven’t gone completely obsessive compulsive; I’m having a multifuel burner fitted so this is the last chance to get rid of dirt on the bricks. It’s hard work, I bet Rhodri will not even notice.
The CD on the computer is broken and it’s Rhodri’s lifeline, as he downloads stuff on to his Ipod for work. He was his usual ineffectual, ‘So what are we going to
do?’ meaning, ‘What are YOU going to do?’ And I went into my usual defensive mode: ‘What do you think WE should do?’ and, ‘We are not buying a new one, as we don’t have any money, so what are you going to do?’ And he said, ‘I’m working full time.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I wish I was working full time,’ when actually I don’t, and then I said, ‘OK, I’ll get it fixed,’ because he’s right, I am here at home all day. It’s just that I resent doing everything, and even if I was working full time he would still expect me to do it. The other day I asked him how we are going to manage with the cleaning and the ironing when I go back to work. My mother and Joanne – Kim and Aggie as I call them – have been coming down every other week at the moment and doing it for me. Instead of saying we’d do it together, a bit at a time, he said, ‘I’ll pay for a cleaner,’ because the truth is, it would never occur to him to clean anything unless he was instructed to do so by me. To the best of my knowledge, in the ten years I have known him he has never cleaned a toilet. How he thinks it gets clean, I don’t know. In fact, I wonder how long it would take for him to notice it needed cleaning. If I didn’t have children I would conduct an experiment. PLUS he says, ‘I’ll pay for a cleaner,’ like spending £100 a month on someone coming to our house is his decision and I have no say in how HIS money should be spent.
I’ve opened an account for bills as we have never had a joint bank account. The other day I sat down and worked out how much of my money goes out on household expenses and food, and the result is: every single penny. There is NO disposable income, so no wonder I have been overdrawn for years. I am waiting to do an audit of Rhodri’s expenditure when his next statement comes through. He didn’t seem to think the joint bills account was a good idea – no, I bet he doesn’t. The truth will all be revealed shortly.
Blowing an absolute gale here today. It’s definitely time for wood-burning stoves.
December 5, Tuesday
Christmas will be coming much earlier to this house than to the rest of the country. I consume whole Advent calendars in one sitting. Osh is taking random sweets and chocolates out of his three and Elis religiously does it every day but somehow is already on the sixth of December. In my experience of these things he’ll forget a couple of days and hopefully Christmas will come on Christmas Day.
Went to Welsh today then came home and made an aubergine casserole for later (just call me Jamie) and picked both Elis and Osh up to get a Christmas tree. I had both of them, two reindeer Christmas tree decorations which Elis wanted and a five foot Christmas tree in my shopping trolley and they all fitted. I don’t know why I am so surprised. I usually manage to cram about one hundred and twenty pounds’ worth of food in one in Tescos and that never looks like anything and never lasts more than a week.
Buying a tree reminds me of one of the worst rows Rhodri and I ever had. It was two years ago (not that I bear a grudge), the first Christmas in this house and, although the house was a mess, I wanted it to be really special as it was Osh’s first Christmas. So I went shopping with my mother and bought a tree and when I told Rhodri the tree cost twenty pounds, he went mad. I said, ‘What century are you living in?’ and I went on about how he was a miserable git and that Christmas was all about families and being together, and even though the house was a mess it was special for the children and they don’t see the mess or remember the mess but they do see and remember that their mum went out and got them a tree. I was so angry that I didn’t speak to him for about two days and I never do that.
If ever I have a row, within a short space of time I have to clear the air. The only other time I have not spoken to him for a few days was when he cheated at Scrabble. He is a Scrabble fanatic and I was winning, I was bloody winning and I am crap at it – he’s read books on it and has studied the Scrabble dictionary, he is a Scrabble geek, basically, and he couldn’t stand it because I was winning. He cheated by not going and changing all his counters, as he knew that I would have them when it was my turn and that I wouldn’t be able to go as he couldn’t. I know technically it’s in the rules, but he could not stand the thought that I might actually beat him at his precious game. I have not played Scrabble with him again, except once when he was ill, and I felt sorry for him and he spoke to me as if I was a little girl saying, ‘Now, Shell, do you know what I would do if I were you?’ ‘Fuck off,’ I wanted to say, but I humoured him because he is a man and that is what we women do.
Anyway, I digress with this Scrabble talk. So the upshot of ‘The Christmas Tree Incident’ as I refer to it, is that every time I so much as mention him buying, or should I say paying for, a Christmas tree as it would never occur to him to actually go and buy a Christmas tree, he says, ‘Yes, of course, no problem,’ and smiles, knowing that if he dared to mention the cost or that it’s bad for the environment I would shove the bloody tree down his Grinch-like throat.
I didn’t get the tree out of the car as it was too wet, and by the time Rhodri came back, it was too late to decorate it. I had lost a little of my Christmas cheer because I slept badly and am tired and think I might have a chest infection, so need to get myself checked out with the doctor tomorrow. I’ll save tree-decorating for the morning, when I shall be as bright and cheery as one of Santa’s little helpers.
Brain ironing woman tomorrow – I’m having major second thoughts about her. I am sure she is very nice, but I’m now thinking she might disrupt my positivity, as the Spice Girls would say. I don’t want to be blubbing into a Kleenex in the office of some woman I’ve never met before. I might not go after this time. I was going to go into her office and say, ‘I kept my appointment, but actually I don’t want to come again.’ But I will just see how it goes and if I feel OK about it.
Also I’m going to Rosie’s friend, the acupuncturist near the brain ironer. Then I’m off to Clare’s house in the evening for the works Christmas get-together. My day is like a bus, things always come in threes. It will be the first time I’ve seen a lot of them from work in months – feels very weird. I am Clare’s secret Santa and I have got her a notepad which is entitled Who’s to Blame – why blame yourself when you can blame someone else. It lists problems on the left and potential wrongdoers on the right and you connect them in the middle – before long you will be ‘blame storming in no time!’ I’m sure it will go down with great hilarity. I may get one for Rhodri, although he might start blaming me for everything then, instead of the other way round.
December 6, Wednesday
Rhodri was going into work late this morning, so he took the children to school and crèche then came back for breakfast. I was sawing bits off the Christmas tree to get it to fit in its holder and I roped him into doing it, and then I decorated it, and just before he left, he paused and said, ‘It looks lovely,’ and he meant it. It seems all the Whos down in Whoville have finally got to him.
I can’t wait for Osh and Elis to get home and see it. I know Osh won’t remember trees from previous years, so he will think it’s magical. He’s taken to saying ‘Wow!’ at everything exciting and new and I love that, that new pair of eyes to see something we have become blasé about or indifferent to. Life should be stuffed with a few more ‘wows’ about the everyday things we take for granted. I’m sat here looking at my beautiful Christmas tree thinking about my lovely children and husband and I feel like I am the luckiest person alive. Wow.
I went for acupuncture with Rosie’s colleague. She was so nice and addressed my cold to get my chi flowing properly before she tackled my immune system. It was raining and pouring, as little Osh says, and the rain set off a car alarm and she told me about earthquakes in Uganda. When she was a little girl, she said, you knew an earthquake was coming because the shop alarms would go off. She also told me about her sister-in-law in India, who had breast cancer and was going through chemo. She went over and gave her sister-in-law a session. All very fascinating stuff – I felt like I knew her after an hour’s session on her couch.
Then I had lunch and went to see my brain-ironer,
Deborah. I am so in the wrong job! She has this bloody fab house decorated in Farrow and Ball paint (Chapel Green, same as my back door) and it was all quiet and calm and she works when she wants and clearly earns a lot of money doing this – unless, of course, she has a rich husband. I did say she had a lovely house but she did not respond, as I guess people like her do not wish to exchange small talk with us mad people.
I now want to be a counsellor and have a big house in Penarth and work when I want to, and pick the children up from school myself. I know I would be a good counsellor because all my friends use me as one anyway, so I would just be getting paid for what comes naturally. Bree and Kerry call me their guru on childrearing (my God, that’s a scary thought) and my other friends are always after me for relationship advice. As I write this down now, I’m thinking, I’m not sure I am the correct person to be giving parenting or relationship advice, but there you go, that’s what happens. PLUS, OF COURSE, I want to help people – or should I say, give people the tools to help themselves.
ANYWAY, never being one to need an excuse to talk, I basically talked at her for two hours; I couldn’t believe the time because I thought, Oh my hour must be up now, and then realised I’d been there for two hours – she must have been reeling from it. I talked a lot about being a control freak and trying to turn my cancer into a positive rather than a negative.
She did very stereotypical counselling, nodding of the head, and occasionally saying, ‘Yes,’ and I thought, She’s just playing a game and I’m doing all the work. I didn’t think she would be of any use to me at all, because I’ve pretty much psycho-analysed myself to death. I told her I was in denial because I saw cancer patients in the hospital as sick people and didn’t feel I was one of them, and that Rhodri was also in denial because he said we couldn’t park in the spaces reserved for chemo patients and I had said, ‘But I am a chemotherapy patient,’ and that we had both laughed over our denial.
My Mummy Wears a Wig - Does Yours? A true and heart warming account of a journey through breast cancer Page 14
