This morning I woke up with a sense of doom and a ‘what’s the point?’ attitude. Instead of listening to that inner voice, I began tidying the house, cancelling any plans for the day, determined to be busy. I knew the tears were on the way, and delaying them would give me a little breathing space to try and work out what was behind how I felt.
Last night I had been having spells of light-headedness, not quite dizziness, that felt strange and a little worrying. After reading the following diary excerpt from my e-book, ‘Butch’s Journey’ this morning, I have decided that the feeling I was experiencing was a cellular memory from seven years ago - that intense feeling you get when you know something bad is happening and you have no idea what to do….
Butch came home from work tonight with a sore arm. I didn’t find out until later he’d had a seizure (or reaction to the chemo) and had lost the power of speech for five minutes before he could get in the ute and drive home. I feel so helpless and scared but don’t know want Butch to know.
Gav came up to stay. He has the flu and was going to cancel, but Butch reassured him saying he’d had a flu shot, so it’s all okay.
We were exhausted and had an early night, no doubt in part, from pretending everything was okay in front of Gav.
It was another long day at work, worrying about Butch and just wanting to go home.
Gav went out visiting friends after tea, so Butch and I settled in for a quiet night.
About 7:30pm we were watching a program and Butch had trouble speaking. He couldn’t get the words to work properly. It was frustrating for him and scary for me. I couldn’t stop shaking as I tried to sound calm and reassure him everything was okay. I asked if he wanted to go to the hospital, but he motioned for me to pass him the steroid tablets and he took a couple. We went to bed, hoping they’d kick in soon. I lay awake most of the night, worried he might pass away if I slept. It seemed to take forever for 8:00am to roll around so we could ring his GP.
We went to the Dr this morning and Butch isn’t allowed to drive at all anymore. He gave him more steroids and anti seizure drugs, telling Butch taking the steroids was the best thing he could’ve done.
As we let the surgery, Butch looked at me and said ‘I’m f****d!’
I kept saying he just needed a new job, we’d known it for months. This just meant he couldn’t delay it any more.
While we were picking up his prescription Trish sent a text asking what was for tea, and then lunch. She was halfway here, so that telepathic invitation worked!
When we got home, Gav was up, so I took him to one side and told him what had happened. Trish arrived and I filled her in as well. Mum rang – more telepathic phenomena!
I am so scared and feel I could easily cry an ocean, but now isn’t the time. I’m tired as well, so my defences are pretty low.
I can see the difference the medication has on Butch virtually straight away. It’s almost like he was drunk, everything requires deep concentration and he’s developed a slight slur. I can’t believe it’s had such a dramatic effect so quickly.
Butch rang up about a job in the paper and was asked to go in straight away. He didn’t dress as impeccably as usual but I didn’t like to comment, as it required a lot of effort to accomplish that.
We dropped him off on the way to the supermarket and as I watched him walking down the road, my heart sank. I knew they wouldn’t even consider him for the job; the way he was walking made him look inebriated.
Before we left home I had been impatient to leave. Everyone seemed to be getting ready in slow motion or forgetting things and it took an eternity to get them organised. I was pretty vocal about how disorganised they were – this came back to bite me on the bum of course.
As we drove in the driveway, I realised I’d forgotten to take a house key! Fortunately the kitchen windows were slightly open so Trish and Butch pulled the screen open, dismantling the window, so Trish could climb in. I’d left a sink full of dirty dishes just to make it more awkward.
Nobody was impressed when I insisted how wonderful we were creating a happy family memory of us all working together! I could see Butch using all his resources to get us inside again. I was so worried and made jokes to stop me crying.
During all this, Mum sent a text asking if she could call. I sent one back saying, well yes, she could, but we couldn’t get inside to answer it yet!
I feel it’s going to take some time to live this down!
Reading this and while re-living the experience, I choose to focus on the love of Butch, our family, and the bizarre memory of us trying to break and enter into our home. I choose to recognise the tough situation we were in, but also to remember the love and laughter we shared. By unwrapping the bad memories instead of hiding from them, we can uncover the love and fun that was hidden below. It is only when we accept the negative, we are better able to recognise the positive.