It’s an odd expression, really, because every day is the first day of the rest of your life, technically speaking, but it has been a significant day here – Husby has started his treatment. It truly has been momentous and hugely underwhelming all at once.
We began (late, out of breath and hot-and-sticky) with a heart-leaping-into-the-mouth moment when Husby’s name didn’t come up on the hospital records as one of the people having an appointment today. When he’d said his name thrice, his address twice and explained once that the appointment had been arranged on the phone, we were asked to wait and spent an anxious few minutes hoping that we were in the right place on the right day.
After a while, someone appeared and confirmed that the appointment was today and would we mind waiting briefly because they weren’t quite prepared. We waited. And waited. And eventually Husby decided to use white man’s magic and went to fetch us both some drinks, then the nurse immediately called his name and off we went.
The endocrine nurse was wonderfully bubbly and perfectly happy to let me tag along. The medicine was there in a ma-HOU-ssive green bag ready for us to take away. She explained her way through it and let Husby demonstrate his competence with the first shot, which he blazed through with flying colours. Two days a week, I’ll be his trusty sidekick, holding the tiny ampoules as he mixes and makes up his shots. We should see some effects anywhere from 2 weeks to a month. Thank goodness!
After all the wonderfulness, we ambled back, remarking on how the sky seemed shinier, the birds seemed to be singing more sweetly and there were butterflies, trumpets and tiny angels all around (okay, there weren’t) and I went to fetch Niece, who was coming for lunch.
I took her to the shops to buy lunch (we stopped at the park for 10 minutes, stopped for her to jump two-footed over every crack in the pavement, stopped for her to walk along some bars next to the road, stopped for her to climb a wall, stopped for her to wipe her nose, stopped for her to climb some other bars, stopped for her to look at a pond, stopped for her to twirl round and round – oh the time unawareness of being 3!) and once we were back, we celebrated with Subway and tried to keep our tempers while Niece. Touched. Everything. With chocolate-spread-covered hands.
The afternoon continued with an after-school bike ride for Niece and Neff, which basically meant them charging ahead on wonky roads with wobbly wheels (and Niece, who can’t reach the brakes) with Sis and I legging it trying to catch them before they went into something or came off the bikes. Coming back, Neff’s stabiliser decided to come loose, so despite covering myself in bike oil trying to tighten it again, the journey was completed (downhill) with me hanging onto the back of his jumper to keep him upright. What larks, young Pip!
|One of my own for once! I call it ‘Jazz Hands’|