Thursday, September 15, 2005
I probably don't have any more aches and pains than the average menopausal woman. But I have a lot more reason to fear them than the average menopausal woman. this has not been a good week. a persistent stitchlike niggle under my ribs (where my liver is) has been joined by an intermittent stabbing ache in my lower back (ovaries) and occasional strange sensations in my lower abdomen, as if a nonexistent belt buckle was digging into me. Taking up the refrain are the odd twinge and ache in my neck (lymph nodes). The result of this symphony of symptoms is that I am a very grumpy woman indeed, constantly aware that I am really quite likely to die, while attempting to go about normal life, put up with baby hitting me, shopping, etc.
if A is giving me a hard time, I find it hard to cope with him. if he's sweet, which is most of the time, it seems even worse; this morning I had to run off for a cry (my first in a very long time) because he was being so lovely and affectionate and I was so afraid I'd die and ruin his life. not to be too vain about it, he loves me and if anything happened to me, he'd be unhappy. the fact that he's a friendly little chap who draws good responses from most people and would actually survive my death very well indeed as these things go, only seems to make it worse. if dh were to remarry and someone else was to be his mummy, that would be great for him. me? I'd be looking down from whereever I was, burning up with jealousy. so these are not particularly good lines of thought, but hard to drop while the aches are banging away. and with a trip to Paris about to happen and the knowledge that early detection of secondaries doesn't make a whit of difference survival-wise, I am strangely disinclined to waste a day getting all the scans done. when we get back I see the surgeon. then things might get scary.
meanwhile, on the surface all is dandy; we are going to Paris, A. is desperately in love with our car (sits in it playing for as long as you'll let him) and nearly as muhc in love with his "Ninny" and "Ever" from the childcare centre - asks for them all the time, just hopefully, as if they'll pop up from the woodwork. and he's sweet and pink and healthy and I adore him more every second.
if A is giving me a hard time, I find it hard to cope with him. if he's sweet, which is most of the time, it seems even worse; this morning I had to run off for a cry (my first in a very long time) because he was being so lovely and affectionate and I was so afraid I'd die and ruin his life. not to be too vain about it, he loves me and if anything happened to me, he'd be unhappy. the fact that he's a friendly little chap who draws good responses from most people and would actually survive my death very well indeed as these things go, only seems to make it worse. if dh were to remarry and someone else was to be his mummy, that would be great for him. me? I'd be looking down from whereever I was, burning up with jealousy. so these are not particularly good lines of thought, but hard to drop while the aches are banging away. and with a trip to Paris about to happen and the knowledge that early detection of secondaries doesn't make a whit of difference survival-wise, I am strangely disinclined to waste a day getting all the scans done. when we get back I see the surgeon. then things might get scary.
meanwhile, on the surface all is dandy; we are going to Paris, A. is desperately in love with our car (sits in it playing for as long as you'll let him) and nearly as muhc in love with his "Ninny" and "Ever" from the childcare centre - asks for them all the time, just hopefully, as if they'll pop up from the woodwork. and he's sweet and pink and healthy and I adore him more every second.
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