The Hidden Journey. Christine Lister
I’ve never been one to dwell in the past. I solved the pain of the past by moving on, finding new hopes and dreams and pursuits.
Later. My stiff neck has eased off. It’s a reaction to the shock and grief. It’s always a delayed reaction with me, held back so I can do what I have to do.
Tuesday 14/3/01
Rex was very restless last night. His legs were continually moving, hurting. There is no way of knowing if this is what to expect or not. He is tolerant of his confinement, ready to do what it takes. I’m enjoying having him so close for so long. Sunlight is starting to filter through the trees.
9.00pm In bed early to read. I’m very unsettled at the moment, fragile, easily upset. Thursday is the big day with the specialist. Is the cancer in his system? The possibility exists so we need to chase that down. Then perhaps I will stop hurting.
Thursday 15/3/01
Two tails are wagging at me. Walk they ask? No way! Each time I wake in the early morning my neck and head feel like they’re in a vice, squeezing, squeezing. Today is the day to see the plastic surgeon. I dislike the man intensely. He is offensive, insulting to women, arrogant and unable or unwilling to communicate, or form a relationship.
Back again. I feel lighter in my heart. Rex is on the mend. The
specialist talked about the rats and mice men8 and the reason for his referral. It was hard for Rex. He didn’t expect to have to follow up. No one had explained to him like David did to me that the tumour had penetrated the lymph. That is the major threat. How major we have yet to determine.
Friday 16/3/01
It’s a greyish day in paradise. The dogs are fed and watered, and waiting to be walked. Rex is by my side reading the papers. The king parrots were back yesterday. There were lots of lorikeets, some eastern rosellas and Rex saw two crimson rosellas. It’s good to have the range of birds back. I can’t imagine our house without them.
Saturday 17/3/01
Rain, rain glorious rain. The garden beds are wet for the first time in ages. Outside is dark and grey with a little sun starting to show its presence. I’m sure the thirsty grass and trees lapped up the welcome drink.
There’s no seed left. The birds have eaten it all and a crimson rosella is about. What a bugger! We’ve done well with the birds here. Number twenty-three is a place for birds to find food and water and hang about.
I have lots of work on the horizon but I can’t apply myself. We’re into the waiting game again. This time it’s the Ludwig Institute and worrying what will happen there.
Sunday 18/3/01
I wonder if Rex will continue for much longer at work. Hopefully, he will be well enough to make the decision, not have the decision made for him. The dogs are quiet again. They have been fed and are now in front of the fire so peace reigns again.
Monday 19/3/01
Rex is still asleep beside me. Outside is still, quiet and grey. The forecast is for nearly a week of damp, drizzle and rain ahead. I don’t mind grey and damp. Grey is one of my favourite colours and wet equals green and growth.
It was a big day yesterday. The wounds were uncovered, both the skin graft on his foot and the donor site on his thigh. Rex spent ages hesitantly pulling at the bandages to loosen them. Instinct says to keep the wounds covered but healing requires them to be uncovered. He then allowed the shower to sluice gently over them. Healing is a slow and painful process.
Wednesday 21/3/01
I’m worried that Rex is too static. He is not walking at all. He’s worried about opening the wounds.
There are precious few calls and no emails. The world has gone away. Panic has subsided and we are on our own once more, just like when someone dies. It is the aftermath that is lonely.
The sun is shining. It is a beautiful day out there. I’m going to meet the day, meet the sun, bask in its warmth, bathe in its light and trust all will be okay in my world.
Thursday 22/3/01
I still haven’t written to anyone. I’m waiting for the Ludwig Institute. Somewhere deep inside I’m not sure what is happening. Soon we’ll start the next and even scarier process. If the melanoma is in Rex’s system, the chance of removing it all with local excision is virtually impossible. I don’t want to know. I’m already feeling I can’t cope.
I’ve been hesitating about planting the Rex Robustas.9 They will be flying in the face of what I feel. Perhaps I should plant them for me instead so I will grow stronger with them. I am the one who needs symbols of hope. Rex always maintains his strength and hope, outwardly at least. I am withdrawing into my own world of pain. I must get out into the garden.
Friday 23/3/01
I like waking early in the morning with the dogs so I can read, write and reflect in the early morning stillness. It is rarely windy early. Our place is so quiet. Although there are lots of people nearby they rarely penetrate the barrier of silence.
Rex will be home until after Easter. No retirement is in the offing yet. I’m pleased. Since he’s been home my routines have become unhinged. I’ve become a little unhinged too.
It is almost a year since I retired. I have done so much and have so much more I want to do. This period is reinforcing that. I don’t want Rex to retire and be home with me. I don’t want Rex to be sick and need intensive care and nursing by me. I could and would do it, but I would strain at the bit to have more in my life.
I loved the way the lorikeets sheltered in pairs under the bird feeders yesterday. It was magic. This is their second home, their shelter when needed. No wonder they keep coming back. No wonder I never want to leave.
Sunday 25/3/01
I’m still wary deep in my heart about what is coming. I was dreaming last night Rex’s cold and mucky throat is the beginning of further problems, of our trip not going ahead. I don’t trust anything at the moment.
I need to get out and about more, taste the world, taste nature, and taste the garden. I’m too house bound. That limits my spirit. My spirit needs contact with the outdoors to flourish. I need my garden. I need to plant, to watch things grow, to feel the earth under my feet and in my hands, to know that life will go on.
Monday 26/3/01
It’s Monday again and a greyer day in paradise than yesterday. No matter, I feel bright this morning. I could do with some counselling but keep hesitating. I will wait until Thursday but I know things are rarely ever resolved in one day. They go on and on. So we need to get on and do whatever we want.
Wednesday 28/3/01
It is a beautiful morning, green and crisp with sunlight filtering through after a good rain. The garden always looks more alive after rain. Today is the finish of this journal, a fitting finish, and a momentous day when we go to see what is in store for us for the rest of our lives.
I had an early wake up call. Pain, pain, pain! The soporific effects of the painkiller take over and I’m okay for a while. I know it’s my body reacting to deep subconscious thoughts, thoughts I rarely allow to the surface.
Rex sleeps on. He’s had a restless night too. I gave him a copy of the initial pathology report.10 He said he’s not worried by it. Funny, it worried me. I can’t get it out of my mind the cancer cells may have slipped into the lymph glands. I keep thinking about wills and things. It’s all part of the deep, dark thinking underneath the surface.
It is dark and gloomy outside. It’s still early but I think it is going to remain a dark and gloomy day.
Friday 30/3/01 3.00am
Pain has me tightly in its grip. I was in agony yesterday at the Ludwig Institute, almost unable to function. Tears were spilling from my eyes as I waited for Rex to have a blood test. I look at Rex closely