‘Marriage is about trust. Each of you must trust the other. It is about compromise and more compromise, even at times when you don’t want to have to feel you have backed down or lost an argument. It is about taking a deep breath and realising that there are some things you need to stand back from. When you have been together for a long time, like my ten years with Rhodri, it is not about lamenting the passion you had at the beginning of your relationship and grieving over the loss, it is about remembering it and realising that every now and then that spark reignites, and although the intensity of those first few years is not there, it is replaced by a stronger, longer-lasting passion; that of being together and facing what life has to throw at you, holding hands tightly, as it does so. Even though there are times when you cannot stand the sight of the person you share your life with, and their voice, their touch, annoys you, it is about knowing and remembering and understanding that the balance comes when their voice and their touch alone can comfort you and make you a whole person again.’
I said to the young woman: ‘You have not faced any difficulties in your life, and you will not necessarily have bad experiences, but there will be adjustments, with children or new jobs or different paths in life, and the important thing is to remember that each hurdle that you face, whatever comes your way, if you face it together you will be stronger.’
And I woke up, and it was just like the dreams you read about in the Bible, when suddenly everything in life fits into place and there is a certainty about it. I realised that all these years of thinking that my relationship with Rhodri was one hard slog, and that he can be selfish, and that he’s not in touch with his emotions, and that the passion was no longer in our relationship; that this is one long steep learning curve, this is a continuum and there are really good times and not so good times but you hold on to each other through both those times.
And I thought about what we have been through, in a really short time together, in the grand scheme of things. I had a miscarriage, he was ill for six months with his back and couldn’t walk and had to have an operation. We had two children, neither of whom came into the world easily, and I was ill and depressed after Elis. I’ve changed jobs, we’ve moved house and I’ve had cancer. We’ve come through an amazing amount of stuff and we are stronger for it all. We are here together and hopefully are going to grow old together for, in many, many ways, it is the shit life throws at you that makes you stronger.
I’m not going to rest on my prophetic laurels though. I will still be carting him off to the counsellor when I get over my treatment.
December 18, Monday
Ding dong, merrily on high. Still wondering about my choice of career after visiting Deborah in her lovely big house and sobbing into a hanky for an hour.
I arrived five minutes early and she said I was early, so I had to hang around outside as if I was waiting to go into a youth club. I rang Kerry on the mobile for a time check and she said she wasn’t the speaking clock – whose number I couldn’t remember anyway.
So I got to the session at 10.15 EXACTLY and Deborah was trying to probe me on failing to turn up at the correct time for my last appointment. She was trying to read something deep and significant into it and despite my saying I simply lost my diary, suggested there was some subliminal reason for me not turning up.
No, I just have to write everything down and she said (I paraphrase here) that I present this calm exterior, an organised person, but there seems to be chaos around me. I said I HAVE to write everything down because I have a problem with numbers, but she kept on and on about the significance of my not turning up and suggesting that I was upset when I left – I wasn’t.
I was just annoyed that I was messing her about. She went on about the diary and not being able to remember things, and that I couldn’t possibly keep in my head information like an appointment, and that my sessions with her were about me and yet she thought that I saw them as unimportant.
I said that my head was so full of trivia I couldn’t possibly remember everything, that’s why I have the diary. I have to remember if I’ve given Osh some Calpol for his cold, does Elis have a handkerchief in his school bag? Does he have his money for the school trip? Are their shoes clean? Have they eaten enough fruit? Where is their vitamin C coming from? (not sure they have had any today, thinking of it, apart from in tablet form – see, there I go again). And that’s all within about fifteen minutes of them being about to leave the house in the morning.
I said the diary was my way of organising the chaos and I was annoyed with myself because I only have about three appointments a week, and I can’t even keep those. I felt a bit, ‘Oh my God, am I the only person in the world who can’t keep appointments and has to write everything down?’
My house is tidy one minute and like a tip the next and I am NEVER on top of things. I do live in a permanent chaotic state, but when you are essentially a single parent for part of the time who has been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness and for one week in three can’t really do much, being too knackered with treatment, then surely keeping my bloody diary is a little link to sanity and I should be applauded for it? Except I must keep it in a safe place, otherwise the whole system collapses if I lose it.
And then along came Nigella Lawson. I saw her being interviewed on telly and they asked how she managed to keep on top of everything. She said, ‘I have to make lists for everything. I need orders, and my lists tell me what to do.’
Without my lists I would be lost to the world – nothing would function in this house without my lists in THAT diary. Nigella is married to a multi-millionaire and is probably one in her own right too, she is a busy working mum AND probably has staff and she has also had tragedy in her life. And although her house is probably always tidy (apart from that room where she and Charles keep Tracy Emin’s tent, or is it her bed?) even SHE has to have her lists to make order out of the chaos – thank you, thank you, thank you, Nigella. I will refer Deborah to Nigella if she EVER asks me about my bloody diary again.
The session with Deborah (apart from Diarygate) was very good and I was going on ad infinitum about my marriage, saying I had shared some of my shit with Rhodri and that it hadn’t made me feel that great because I was unburdening on him. But that he sent me some roses and I realised that sharing the burden is good.
I told her that I had asked him about my illness and that it occurred to me that I had not asked him in six months what he thought about my cancer, and what he had said. ‘I’m not sure what all this has to do with my cancer,’ I remarked, ‘I seem to be fixated on my marriage.’
She said that Rhodri was the person I was turning to in my time of need, and as he physically wasn’t there at a time when I needed him, perhaps I was thinking I needed him because I can’t do this on my own. She’s right (of course she is bloody right, she’s a highly paid counsellor).
She asked me who I talked to about my illness in any detail and I said no one, and that’s it, I don’t. I am the jolly cancer victim protecting those around me because I don’t want them to be hurt by my pain. That is hard work and it is impossible to keep going and sometimes you have to break down and cry and I have thought that crying would be letting the cancer get the better of me, but it is also a way of dealing with the cancer. You HAVE to tell someone all those thoughts and fears that are on your mind, because I think if you don’t confront those demons, no matter how frightening they may be, they will catch up with you at some point. Better out than in.
She asked me what I had thought about coming to see her and I told her that I had been sceptical about it, that I had thought no one could understand me better than me, that I had analysed myself in depth and thought there was nothing else to know.
I said that I had found that wasn’t the case, and that she had opened my eyes to a lot of things about myself that I had never thought of, that I am vulnerable but the way I deal with that is putting up this front which no one can penetrate and I was learning to show my emotions to Rhodri, because i
f he didn’t know about them he can’t begin to understand them.
I said I was a ‘horrible’ perfectionist and she asked me why I used the word ‘horrible’ and I said, ‘Because being this perfectionist all the time is hard work, actually it’s exhausting.’ Always thinking that everything has to be just right takes up time and energy, and having to be the best at everything and never failing at anything and expecting everyone around me, especially Rhodri, to live up to those standards drains all your energy. I have lived my life trying to be perfect at everything.
Then I said, ‘The thing is, I’ve realised that I’m not perfect. I have flaws, some quite fundamental ones, and for years I have thought that Rhodri was the one who was unreasonable and emotionally closed when actually I think it was me who was those things.’
She said I presented this image to the world of being in control and calm. I said, yes, but it was like stage management, because inside I am a mess sometimes, and situations and people in authority make me nervous, but I keep this front up and it’s bloody hard work.
She said that my body wasn’t perfect, that I had cancer, and I said that I thought that realisation was making me look at my life in a different way. My name is Michelle and I am not perfect and I am so bloody relieved that I never have to be perfect again.
December 19, Tuesday
Ding dong merrily on high . . . Hosanna in excelsis, la la la la la la la la . . . Kerry came over with baby Daisy today and we wrapped all the presents in the attic, which were threatening to come through the ceiling. There were hundreds of them. It took the two of us nearly four hours (interspersed with tea breaks and lunch).
We were listening to all the old favourites: Bing Crosby and all those other old crooners singing Christmas songs, I had my log-burner going and it was all lovely and Christmassy.
Later, when the children had gone to bed, because the back room was so nice with the wood-burner, Rhodri and I stayed out there and Rhodri went out to get a pizza and a bottle of cava (didn’t sit well with my no wheat, no cheese, no alcohol – but for God’s sake you are a long time dead) and we did the After Dinner Quiz – well in our case the During Dinner quiz. He was so pissed off because I was ahead all the time, in truth he thinks that I know nothing, and when I said the grey squirrel was introduced from North America, he said he wasn’t going to give it to me as there was no such country as North America. Oh, how I love beating him in quizzes.
I said, ‘You hate it because you don’t think I know anything.’ The truth is, although the questions can be difficult, there is some logic to them. Example: Who is the Patron Saint of Carpenters? Just think of the most famous carpenter – Joseph – and there’s your answer. He thinks I am some mad genius for being able to retain this info when I’m just guessing and he (being a man) does not realise that my brain simply does not have enough room to retain the Patron Saint of Carpenters, even if I wanted to. But like every other bit of thinking I do on my feet there’s some logic somewhere, it’s just a question of finding it.
December 20, Wednesday
George Clooney is the single most handsome man on this planet and I defy ANY woman to say otherwise. He is handsome and clever and knows where Darfur is and all those terrible things that are going on there (I am Googling it as I write) and can act and direct and never kisses and tells.
Anyway, I dreamt that I was actually going out with him last night – that we were an item – and it was so real, and I was ringing Kerry up talking about George and Brad Pitt, who are good friends, and I said – in my dream, on the phone to Kerry, ‘Listen to me talking about George and Brad’ – and then I woke up.
BUT I’m sure I would have something meaningful to say to George, if I ever met him, especially now I have Googled Darfur. Fucking hell, it’s grim out there. There are 450,000 people dead and 2.5 million displaced. It’s a country run by genocidal maniacs and I know bugger all about it. It has taken a dream about George Clooney to educate me. Thank you, George. I will donate some of my Christmas money to the cause.
Went to see Ian J today. Will that man ever get a bloody wife and be as miserable as the rest of us? I told him that Elis asked out of the blue the other day, ‘Why doesn’t Ian have a wife?’ I said that he was trying very hard, but I really don’t think he is.
He’s there with his bloody cats and his bachelor existence in a house where, if you put something away, it stays put away. He has a garden that is perfect and he can pop to the shops anytime he wants: and can use a whole trolley without any small bodies riding inside it.
And he can go to football and to a pub, and is answerable to no one except, ultimately, God. He needs to suffer like the rest of us.
Did the quiz again with Rhodri and he beat me by one point. Unlike him, I am gracious in defeat.
December 21, Thursday
Joanne and my mother came down today and did a pre-Christmas clean for me. I protested and said I would rather they just came to visit me, but they insisted and I was very glad by the end of it as it would have taken me all day. But with three of us it was a few hours and it does look so lovely when it is clean and tidy. My IKEA open-plan living dream is there in all its minimalist glory for all of one hour before I had to pick the children up.
I am resolving to put everything away and keep it clean before Sioned and Ali come on Saturday for Christmas.
Babs came round and we ate mince pies. I have eaten four of them today and I don’t even like the things. Now I’m scared to get on the scales as I can feel I have put on weight. Oh well. I will diet after chemo. I need all my mince-pie strength to face my treatment.
December 22, Friday
I dropped Elis and Osh off in school and nursery and on the way Elis was singing ‘Here it is, Merry Christmas, everybody’s having fun,’ and I saw two builders looking over and I smiled at them, thinking they were thinking my little Christmas angel was cute.
Walked back to the house after I dropped the kids off at school and nursery and I heard one builder say to the other, ‘It’s her,’ and he came out from behind a wall and smiled and I smiled back and he was quite nice and buildery and then I walked on and they wolf-whistled – TWICE. I could not believe it: TWO BUILDERS FANCIED ME.
I forgot that I was once a radical feminist who would have turned around and stuck her fingers up at them, I just walked on with my head held high, beaming. I wanted to whip my wig off and say, ‘Aha!, I have no hair and cancer and someone still fancies me who isn’t my husband.’
Alison K was in the house with Erin and Rhodri when I got back.. I was like an excited schoolgirl. I said, ‘Alison, I know you won’t approve but two builders just whistled at me and it was bloody great.’
Spent the day with Alison K and Erin mooching about IKEA. Alison K went for some plates for her Christmas nutloaf and I just went along for the ride really, having done all my Christmas things and not having to cook a bloody thing (hurrah!) as Ali is doing us an Iranian meal for Christmas dinner and he is the most wonderful cook ever.
We shopped around, then had lunch, then Erin played and we had coffee and then it was school picking-up time. We spent the entire afternoon discussing mad families at Christmas – hers and mine. I would tell a story, then she would say, ‘Well, listen to this . . . ’ Then we discussed people who have or want affairs (not us, though) and decided that they really had to ‘get over it’ where children were concerned.
I do of course realise that life is not always as simple as that, and I never thought I would actually say this, but I highly value the sanctity of marriage and bringing children up within it. If Rhodri leaves me, EVER, now I value the sanctity of marriage, I will never forgive him.
It is the last day of school today and I had promised Elis he could have two of his schoolfriends over. He has been counting the days down all week – four sleeps to Jonah and Ben coming over, three sleeps to Jonah and Ben coming over, etcetera. Anyway, he has been as excited about them coming as he has about Christmas. So I opened the curtains and I said what El
is always says when the day he has been counting sleeps to finally arrives, ‘Tomorrow’s today!’ And he jumped up, and Rhodri, who had been sleeping in the Bob the Builder bunk, jokingly said, ‘Yeah, Merry Christmas,’ and I jokingly said, ‘Yeah, let’s see if he’s been,’ and with that Elis ran downstairs thinking it was Christmas morning. Then I said, ‘Oh no, it’s not Christmas really, it’s Ben and Jonah day, that’s what I meant,’ and he said slightly dejectedly, ‘Oh, I thought it was Christmas.’
I always think it is a good idea, especially as it makes Elis the happiest boy on the planet, to have two of his friends over but then I remember that two energetic boys are enough; four is too many. My mother had four children, albeit four girls, and when I went on holiday with Kate in the summer and we had four children to look after between the two of us, I was exhausted when I got back, and said to my mother, ‘How on earth did you keep going with four all the time?’
She said, ‘I never took you anywhere.’ Fair point, if you don’t go anywhere, you can’t get stressed. She is right, we never did go anywhere but were basically left to run wild around woods and hills, with her not knowing from one hour to the next where we were. Can you imagine that happening now? If they are out of your sight for five minutes you think a homicidal paedophile has kidnapped your kids. It certainly was a different time.
Anyway I stopped outside the nursery with the three boys in the back talking about poo and nappies and Osh, and I jokingly said, ‘Well, it wasn’t that long ago you three were in nappies,’ to which they all recoiled in horror. I continued, ‘I remember changing Elis’s nappy.’ Ben and Jonah taunted him and he was crying in the car, so we all had to say sorry to Elis to stop him crying and I had to deny that I could ever remember changing his nappy, oh no, I was only joking and it was all all right then.
My Mummy Wears a Wig - Does Yours? A true and heart warming account of a journey through breast cancer Page 16
