Thursday, August 18

The C Word

Well I have been totally absent for a while, and I apologise.


has been going on.


You know, Stuff? I'll divulge later I promise. And the thing is, big 'stuff' happens, and life doesn't stop. You keep on getting up, dressing yourself(albeit very poorly), dressing other people(who don't want to be dressed), making copious amounts of toast, cups of tea, sandwiches(NB; is it just me, or are sandwiches The most tedious thing to make...), calling people on the phone, making appointments, going to appointments, arranging childcare, weeping a little bit, arranging more childcare, going to family dinners, making excuses, spending huge amounts of money on cars, well the list just goes on. All the stuff you MUST keep on doing, no matter what else is going on in your life.

Tomorrow I am going to a funeral. And I thought, right! Time to blurb out into blogdom all the stuff that has been happening up til now, so that there's room in my head for all the other stuff coming up.

Part One

I'm going to the funeral of an amazing woman. She was the same age as my mother, the same age as my husband's mother. Not a dying age. She got cancer, breast cancer, at a weird time when it seemed like everyone was getting breast cancer. Three women in my church who I knew well, were all diagnosed within a year. They all got better. Then one started getting worse again. The youngest, the most bubbly.

Lyndal Lynch.

Such a woman. I can't even do honour to these women on a blog such as this. Where would I start. Lyndal was full of life, full of love, open-hearted, generous, one camping trip she taught me how to hang towels so that they dry real fast; strange thing to remember about a person!

Then, last year, another became worse. She had her five year all clear certificate, and then it came back, everywhere. She started her second, long, long battle.

And then the third got sick again. She didn't have a very brief respite, it was a fast turnaround.

Gillian Walters.

Gone, just like that.

And now the second, brave, brave woman. At peace now.

Eunice Franklin.

She got five more years of life, she got to see grandchildren born. When things got bad again, her husband(who travelled so so much) came home and stayed home.

She died surrounded by her husband, her sons.

And in the midst of all of this, there was a second flurry of women. Another 'pillar' of my old church got it, quick as a wink. The C word. She's fighting, boy she's fighting. And she has had to watch 3 other women die.

Josh's mother was diagnosed a few years ago. Total shock. The most healthy fit woman I know. She's had the all-clear now for at least two years, and her attitude is amaaaazing. I am in awe of her. But sometimes when we're catching up on each other's worlds, she asks.... "how's Eunice?"

And today I found out that ANOTHER woman who I knew very well, did many things with at my old church, she is riddled with it.

It is such a disease. Such a hideous hideous disease.

And so I'm going to this funeral tomorrow, and I know, I just know I'm going to bawl. I'm ripe for a good howl. And unfortunately(tears are welling up already), it's not going to be for the right reasons. Yes I will be crying for Lyndal, again, and for Gillian, again, and for Eunice, for darling Eunice who has done so so much for me. And yes I will be crying for fear of all the other pain, all the other cancers out there, that loom like foul shadows over people I love.

Part Two

But most of all I will be crying for my baby. My little little baby, who I have not really cried for yet(and in hind-sight, I should have cried out thoroughly so as not to be feeling so self-piteous at someone else's funeral), who was only a shadow, a drop in the ocean, naught but a dream.

I was 8 weeks pregnant, 8 delicious weeks, and those 8 weeks were freaking wonderful. I was happy and buoyant, and queasy(not too much, just the right amount), and secretive, and Josh even whispered to me at one stage that I would let it out because I was actually GLOWING. I never glowed before, with the other two. I was too sick, too sore, too depressed from the get go. This time I glowed.

And we had agonised over this addition for a year, and fought; fought each other, fought ourselves, fought for the right to have it, and we had prayed, and sought counsel from Wise people. And when we decided, yes, this world needed more Osbornes, there was a quiet peace within me, that thrilled me to the core.

We got pregnant straight away, fertile like rabbits we are!

And then, 8 weeks. Went for our scan like whispering, giggling schoolkids in a candy shop. Josh stayed outside with the kids(oh I wish he had come into the dark room with me), and I went in. And where there should have been life, there was not. Where there should have been light, there was only darkness, a great gaping darkness.

Part Three

We learnt words like 'missed miscarriage', 'molar pregnancy', 'evacuation', 'fetal pole'. We learnt that bodies sometimes hang on to stuff. That our clever amazing human bodies sometimes have cruel tricks played on them. And so for 3 more weeks we waited for the end, which didn't come. What the pamphlets described as 'cramping' or 'bleeding' just didn't come. And for 3 long weeks I was ill ill ill, not just queasy but so ill that I did not, could not, open my mouth. I couldn't get dressed, an 'outfit' was beyond me. If I found a lucky combination of clean warm clothing, I wore it for a week at a time. I found it hard to shower.

I dove into the murkiness and struggled to breathe.

Part Four

And then, surgery. I went to sleep, and when I woke up again, I was healed. Amazing. It was like waking from a deep, refreshing slumber, like cold water on my face.

And so I haven't cried, not really really cried, because I've been too busy being better. I've been too busy remembering how to laugh at and with my children, and eating food that tastes amazing, and hugging my husband without feeling nauseated(poor man!).

It was like a rebirth.

And now I feel sad sometimes, and cross that I'm not pregnant anymore, and fearful of the future, but apart from the crazy dreams, I'm doing ok.

But when I heard about Eunice, it shook me. And now I'm all teary and scared and so so sad about her dying, even though she fought for a long time and her pain is gone. And I know that when I cry, I'll be crying about a misplaced child, rather than an amazing woman.

Stuff feels really screwed up sometimes.

In my dreams, I lose my baby. I have a baby, who usually seems about 3 months old, and I lose it. I go to the supermarket, and put it down, and then forget it. Sometimes I realise straight away, but it's already gone. Sometimes it takes hours, I get home and feed the kids, and suddenly remember - the baby! And it's already dark outside, which means for some reason that I can't go back to the supermarket to look for my baby, I will have to wait until the morning.

And then I wake up.
Or I am feeding the baby, and fall asleep and when I wake up I've lost it, it's in the bed somewhere but I can't find it, and I search and search through the endless sheets, but it's gone, and I'm weeping because I will have to tell Josh, I will have to tell everyone that I've lost the baby.
And then I wake up.

1 comment:

Stacy said...

Oh Rach I know the waking after dreams!!! Those hard, hard dreams of loss. LOVE you. You are a beautiful, amazing woman who lives and feels life honestly. Thank you for sharing that. Sending you so much love - to wrap around your heart, spirit and mind. xox