Saturday, 27 May 2017

Passing the 11+

Today is +11. I am back from the hospital and can report that Mike was a bit brighter today. His blood pressure is still far too low, he has an infection that could still see him off and he still isn't eating, but through the codeine cloud of nonsensical mutterings Mike was definitely brighter. We had large ducks on bicycles, hairs growing out of the wall and children standing with guns. 

So why when I got home did I burst into tears and sob for half an hour? I'd like to tell you all it was tears of joy or relief, but it wasn't. I cried because there is a pretty good chance that at some point in the next five years I will have to go through the same grief that I have felt over the last few days for real. I don't want to have to keep being told I might lose him, for one day I know I will. I don't want him to die, of course I don't, but the niggling "threat" becomes unbearable. Every bout of pneumonia has a risk of sepsis (I hadn't really understood sepsis until now), every infection a ticking time bomb. My heart can't stand the Russian roulette that myeloma creates, and yet I have no choice. I have to stand by and watch and feel it all. I sobbed for all the lost years of innocent living that "normal" couples have. 

I will leave the rest of my thought processes to your own imagination. I feel so awful.


  1. i have been thinking about you and Mike today. This Russian roulette in itself takes you down. It is so unbelievably stressful and exhausting.
    Lorna, are you in contact with Hospice to help yourself? You need just as much support as Mike does right now.

  2. Yes, it is a dreadfully sad experience that you are having, Lorna, with a daily roller-coaster ride that brings no thrills of delight. I went over to Paula's blog again today and thought about what she went through and how we all cheered her onward only to face the final curtain.

    I have moments of joy now watching my son-in-law feeling well enough to play with his twins and joke around with his teenaged daughter, but I can see the toll of anxiety that has weighed my daughter down these past 8 years.

    It's more than understandable that you are grieving for all that you will never have and there are really no words I can offer for comfort. But I am thinking about both of you...

  3. Just stopping by to see how you are doing.