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Posts tagged ‘cancer’

Do you need a reason?

The Outlaws invited two friends to The Bro’s birthday dinner. Raewyn is a friend of Rosina’s, and I’m not sure whose friend Chris is. Possibly nobody’s. I’m not sure how it came up, but as everyone sat around the table surreptitiously burping, somebody mentioned Chris was into astrology. He recently told Sian, a friend of Rosina’s, that she had no relationship with her mother which apparently came as a surprise to Sian because she cried for a week.

“Sian, she is, the crab?” said Chris. “Cancer, yes. These people, their relationship with the maternal mother is, how you say? Bad. Complicated.”

“I’m Cancerian,” I said.

“How’s your relationship with your mother?” asked Brian.

“Pretty good, I reckon.”

Chris shot me a look and, if I had more sense, I would have been chilled to the bone. Instead I flashed him a smile which, if I communicated the sentiment accurately, should have said, “Shove THAT up your arse.”

“I’m Aries,” volunteered Raewyn.

“Aries,” mused Chris. “Yes. Aries, you are hard worker. You work hard. But you will be alone. Always alone.”

“Oh,” said Raewyn.

“Yes,” said Chris.

“At least you have your friends,” said Rosina.

“What about Aquarius?” I asked.

“Why you want to know?”

“Husband,” I said, pointing a thumb at the subject.

“There is no connection between you. This man and you, there is no reason for the two of you to be together.”

“Terrific,” said Husband.

“You will come to understand this later,” said Chris confidently.

“So, we’re poked?” I asked.

“Yes. I can tell you do not believe this,” Chris addressed Husband, whose waves of skepticism emitted their own frequency.

“Well no,” said my husband. “It’s just that . . . sort of . . . basically it’s a pile of rubbish, isn’t it?”

I guess silent adoration doesn’t count as a connection

“Think I can touch my forehead!”

Father In Law is in good form – at the moment he’s in Sydney at the Formula 1 racing. Prior to harvesting his stem cells, he underwent a three-day dose of savage chemo. He subsequently lost his hair, which was a bit of a shock; it is easy to forget how sick he is. 

He might have retained some, except that he liked to demonstrate his accelerating hair loss to visitors by ripping it out at the roots: 

“Aw yeh, all falling out – look! Make a jumper out of that.” 

He has a ruptured disk in his lower back, but at one stage when his drug regime made him impervious to pain, he would high-kick around the kitchen. 

“Haven’t been able to do this for years!” 

“You know, Brian,” I said one morning, “just because you CAN – mind the light – doesn’t necessarily mean you SHOULD.” 

“Think I can touch my forehead! Ungh!” 

The other day he went for a routine heart and lung check. With both apparently in spanking condition, he doubled the smoking and drinking and tortures Rosina: “I’m in great shape! You should have the old bellows checked out – might have to give up the fags, old girl.”

Father In Law

Father In Law is doing really well and is obviously thrilled to have Husband home. He is on some fairly wicked drugs (please note: no connection between the drugs and Brian’s joy at seeing his son again). Rosina calls him ‘Extreme Brian’ when he’s wacked out on the happy pills – he has been known to go out and feck rocks at the neighbours at 03:00 hrs.

After some false starts, his stem cells were harvested last week and the actual transplant operation/procedure should take place sometime next month

Just hyperventilating

Although we had agreed to leave the Middle East at the end of 2007, realistically we were looking at January, possibly February 2008. When I was in Ireland, Husband rang me one night to give me a pep talk on stress management:

“Niamhie, I know we said the end of the year, but does it matter whether it’s January or February, or even March? Or April?”

“Husband. We’re leaving in December.”

“Yes, but what I’m saying is, you’re going to get all worked up – you know, when things aren’t happening fast enough – and you should relax – take a chill pill! I mean, we know we’re leaving, so it doesn’t matter if the date slips a month or several. Does it?”

“You know what I’m stressed about right now? That my husband obviously does not know me AT ALL.”

“Niamhie?”

“Just hyperventilating.”

“You should breathe more.”

Shortly after Husband’s father was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, we booked one-way flights to Auckland, departing Dubai on 24 December.

Originally, we planned to sell the Springs villa before the end of 2007. However, in early November the resale market was sluggish and we decided to rent the property.

The Tenants were the first people to view the house. Mr and Mrs Tenant were almost more anal than I am, so inevitably I fell instantly in love. When they were noncommittal, it was all I could do to stop myself dropping to my knees and begging them to move in rent-free.

Later the same day, Mr Tenant called and offered to take the house and asked for first option to buy. The deal felt profoundly karmic: The Tenants were being kicked out of their furnished villa on 20/12, which was the precise date Husband and I had agreed the house should be ready for occupancy. Then they bought our BBQ, fridge, oven, washing machine, wireless router and Husband’s motorbike.

The least I could do was invite them around for a barbeque. Mr and Mrs Tenant turned up accessorised with three children. The only tense moment was after the meal, when Mrs Tenant came into the kitchen to help load the dishwasher.

“You’re not one of those people who washes things before they put them in the dishwasher, are you?” she said.

“What, me?” I said. “NO! GOD no. Do people actually DO THAT? You’re joking. Scary to think there are nutsos like that roaming around in the world. Unsupervised. Must be a real worry when you have kids, is it?”

But later it was hard not to feel resentful as I washed and reloaded the dishes.

Shortly after signing the tenancy contract, with habitually spectacularly impeccable timing, Eid was announced to fall three days before The Tenants moved in on 20/12. As landlords, we were required to paint and clean the house, but we only had one day between the shippers and the Eid holiday. We realised we were going to have to clean the house ourselves.

On 15/12 Husband and I had painters falling over us as we conducted a final sort through our stuff. Husband didn’t take it well and there were Words. At least I didn’t have to go to the trouble of bursting into tears; at that stage I was crying pretty much permanently. On Sunday the shippers came and I wept through the entire ordeal. On Monday I finalised everything with The Tenants, closed our phone and Internet account with Du, went to DEWA (water and electricity) for our final bill, organised New Zealand dollars, picked up Husband’s motorbike engine from KTM, and picked up Husband from work.

As I drove him home, Husband told me he would have to work over some of Eid. Again, I didn’t throw a wobbler so much as simply ramp up the bawling to full-blown panic attack.

“You’re going to lee-hee-heave me with all the clea-hee-heaning!”

“Baby! Of course I won’t,” said Husband solicitously.

Instead, while I spent Tuesday and Wednesday scrubbing the house down, Husband fixed his motorbike in the back garden. It had been broken for six weeks. I’m telling you, THAT will feature in future arguments 🙂

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