Still here IV

20th January 2023

Warning: this may get a bit sad, but only for a little bit. 

A thing I can't currently do:

Talk about my kids and cancer in the same conversation. 

I hope to be able to do that here, if I can, in written form. Talking about them in real life is almost impossible with anyone other than Rebecca. 

It's difficult to explain just how quickly the emotions explode to the surface and render me completely unable to speak. It's a massive endeavour to suppress the surging eruption of tears. My throat tightens and does that ache thing, my eyes well up, and I'm just unable to speak. Even if I wanted to or tried, it wouldnt come out. Well, it wouldn't be words, it'd be an attempt and a garbled mess of vowels and chokes.

I've been asked many times, various questions about the kids and is often just "How are the kids coping?", which we kind of don't answer, well, not really. We'll say they're fine and coping really well or similar, but I honestly don't believe we know, if we're honest. We can assume, but don't really know. 

Sometimes I've been asked more difficult questions and the following two are examples: 

How have you explained things to the kids?

Do they know?

Well, they do know what's going on with me to some degree. We've explained as we have needed to. "Dad's having more nasty chemo again." Liam and Jake know more than Lily. Jake, who is now 26 😳, likely knows more than Liam. Purely down to deeper conversations about it and his age and ability to process it more. 

They hear a lot that we hadn't realised and will surprise us with a comment or question that raises an eyebrow of, not surprise, but perhaps a little, 'oh, you heard that.' Especially Lily, she's wise beyond her 10 years and astute. I sometimes think I can see her mind working as she sits and listens while we chat about, well, anything; not just my health.

A while ago she heard us briefly discussing the next appointment I had.

"I thought you got rid of it last time, Dad." She said, meaning the last time I'd had chemotherapy some 9 months prior. It was said almost in passing and in the same tone and manner she would ask us what was for tea. Man, that broke me. Even writing it here I become brittle again. Had she gone almost a year thinking Dad was okay, but now I had to undo all that? On one hand, I was joyed by the thought she had that time of normality and life was as it should be, but the flip side of it, the other hand, is the reality of dashing that blissful ignorance, and that's what had to happen. "Still a little left to mop up, so I'm having a bit more chemo to zap 'em." I told her with as lighter voice as I could muster. 

We chatted more than that one comment and I watched her brain absorb and manipulate this new information, filing it somewhere amongst the boxes labeled 'Dad' with a note attached to return to later; perhaps when sat in a lesson at school or to be opened again after tea as she occasionally sits staring off in a trance. Not in a weird way, just as we all do, and then someone will interrupt us and we return to the reality of the room. I picture those boxes as brown, cardboard and gathering dust. Some taped shut, others slightly open, suggesting regular visits. Placed and stacked in a room resembling an old loft or attic, with bare floorboards and dust everywhere. Less dust on the well travelled, more frequently ambled routes and areas. 

Yes, that is how I imagine how the mind holds memories. Scattered 📦 📦 📦. Some piled, some on their own as they begin to build new piles and links to others. And, if Lily's head full of boxes is anything like her bedroom, it'll be a chaotic mess, but she'll know where everything is when needed. 

Getting back to my inability to talk about the kids and cancer; it really is quite impossible. I'm physically not capable. 

My own boxes all open at once and swirl their contents before my eyes in vivid detail, and each memory carries the imagery and emotions of that moment, and all of it happening so fast it's overwhelming. This literally happens within seconds. I dont think I'm alone on this, I just can't get past it and have to change the subject and talk about something else. 

Jake, Liam and Lily. All three of the little buggers have filled me with boxes brimming with love, joy, happiness and all of the beautiful superlatives you could think of. 

So, it's entirely their fault. 

A later blog will have to be used to talk about my kids properly - they are uniquely awesome.

Moving on because I feel I've went on a bit.

Chemo this week was 3/3, so I get next week off! Yay! 😊

Knowng that is coming is a real lift. It feels so far away at times. It's still a bag of dicks. 

Milo is on the mend! My scale of measurement for him has been if he can jump on the bed without smashing into it. Good news, he can! As funny as it was watching him clatter and scramble at the bedside, it is great to see and know he's well and truly on his way to being himself again. 

Hes still on various medication but hopefully not for too much longer. 

In other news, I bought a Sub! Not the sarnie, a subwoofer. 

Added to the speakers I already have, films and everything else sound amazing. Totally transforms the sound and really immersive. 

Rebecca loves it. 😉😄

What else....?

Hmm...

Ahhh, that'll do for this blog.

Remember, support your fellow workers, never vote Tory and always put your trolley back at Asda. 

Stay golden, people. 😚