This morning my mobile phone rang. It was Dave.
"Oh .... ahhhhh .... who's this?"
"Eden. Eden your WIFE."
"Oh. Heh heh sorry hon ...."
Then he launches into this big involved spiel about the forty thousand things he needs to do today and manic and stress and worry.
Five minutes later I rang him back.
"Ok hon .... just think you should know something. Exactly a year ago, you drove into our driveway and told me you had cancer. Tumours. Cancerous tumours. So, while you may be stressed out and blah blah today .... for goodness sake you certainly have a better level of problem, yah??!!"
He agreed, and I could hear his breath get caught in his throat.
I never thought I could have a worse day than the day of my dads suicide ... and I did. It was the day I wrote this:
"We just got back from the cancer clinic. Looks like Dave has some form of 'systematic lymphoma' in his stomach/intestines. He is in extreme pain, the doctor is going to find a surgeon for him asap, hopefully tomorrow. He needs to be opened up, to see how advanced it is and how far it has spread.I cannot believe I am typing this. The doctor said it's likely he will need chemo. We sat in the waiting room that was full of old people and there was a wicker basket of free knitted beanies. He probably won't be there when the baby is born, we will be in different hospitals.We are both in shock."
And this tasty treat:
" ..... I keep waiting until I feel better to post. But I'm not. Thanks so much for everyone's comments, and for keeping us in your thoughts. It really does mean a lot. My poor sweet man, Goddamit I love him so much and I'm so scared. The night we found out, we just held each other all night. I couldn't sleep at all - literally, not a wink. Just my two eyes peeping wide out into the darkness, holding him so close, with disbelief at what is happening underneath his skin. He got up to go the toilet and nearly collapsed, I had to help him back into bed. I listened to his breathing all night, afraid it would stop. We got up at 2am and sat up on the couch next to the fire, watching some elder Aboriginals on tv making boomerangs by hand. It was amazing. We kept telling each other we loved each other, Dave said "It's like it was when we first met!" And it was, our love in the room around us like this big, palpable presence.
The day gave us some light. I'd written lists and lists of stuff we needed to do before we both go in. He's very worried about his business - he employs 6 people, they're all on different jobs. He has just built a beautiful brand-new house that we can let-out for holiday accomodation ... we need to get it furnished and up and running to start getting some money in. Hopefully his co-workers and employees can all pitch in and come to the party. (Cancer party! Yay!)
He gets admitted on Sunday, for a biopsy and 'look' operation on Wednesday. Strange that he has to spend three nights in there first, but 'a good bed is hard to find' in the public system and we can't risk losing it. The doctor has been so lovely, really working hard to find a surgeon for us. Hopefully Dave can get a daypass out on Monday, to be there with me when the baby is born.We need to find out what we are dealing with, before they can treat it. I didn't expect to be asking about the effects of a person on chemo being near a newborn, during my last-ever doctors appointment yesterday.
I keep crying at really inopportune times .... standing in line at the grocery store, walking up the street. How strange for people to look at me with such sparkly excitement in their eyes ... when having a baby is the furthest thing on my mind. I have organised a quick release program from hospital, so that I can be visited by the midwives. This is mainly for my little Max, who got in the car this morning, and after picking up on all the 'vibes' with Dave and I ... said "Geez mum. Today is just really weird." We have told him that daddy is a bit sick in his tummy and has to go into hospital, but that Auntie Linda and Auntie Leigh will be here to take good care of him and then mum and dad will both be home. My sisters will be here on Sunday. I think I have been putting that off, because I know after this weekend that our lives will be forever different, no matter what happens.
I have an awful feeling that I have created this, which is quite irrational. Dave always reckons I fear spiders so much that they always come to me, and scare me. I have experienced a lot of deaths of people close to me, and sometimes I have worried about what would I do if Dave ever died. Like the whole "The Secret" thing, manifesting your reality. But, I think, if that was real ..... then there would be no infertility blogs, would there.I'm a bit all over the place today.
This morning, we were all having a cup of tea by the fire, and Dave was telling Max he'll have to take the garbage out as one of his jobs. Max goes "No - you can take the garbage out when you're a ghost." I felt sick, and hoped Dave didn't notice. Then the dog jumped off the ute ... when she was leashed on there, so she was dangling like a freaking hangman. Dave grabbed her and she was fine, but she has never done that before. It's all surreal and strange and numb. I can't believe the timing.
In twenty years from now I want to be talking to my twenty-year old child about what a scary week it was before he/she was born. And then Dave will walk into the room and crack a silly joke about it and I will laugh but say a silent thank you up to the universe."
One year since that time. Recent events made me petrified for Dave all over again, but I think he is ok. If he is not, there is nothing I can do. I think he is ok.
SO many people at that time told me ..."God never gives you more than you can handle." And my head screamed BULLSHIT.
Til one day I went to a Knitters Anonymous meeting, and someone said: "God never gives you more than you can handle .... but life does."
And it does and it did and now it's not. There are no crises here ... only the ones I create myself. We are all well, in this house.