Mr Pie’s surgery is set for Wednesday, April 18. This is our last weekend before the surgery.
We’ve been tying up loose ends, so to speak, getting the house and garden in order now before it gets too hot, and before he’s laid up for six weeks.
We have dug in the garden, planted, weeded, fussed over it, and tidied up the garage over the past several weekends so things are starting to look pretty good.
While Mr Pie recuperates, I will spend the next two weeks packing up my kitchen and breakfast room for the remodel because the cabinets are due on May 4.
Do we have good timing or what?
And then Mr Pie’s brother called us today and he has prostate cancer too.
He’s only 51. Their father had it but he was a bit older when he was diagnosed.
Right now I’m thinking about my son who is 37 and I’m starting to worry.
Do I need more stress right now? I guess someone thinks I do.
My cousin, who has a sister named Marilyn, wrote to ask how I’m doing, and this is part of the letter I sent back:
Dave and I are hanging in there; his surgery is this coming Wednesday. We had the pre-op on Tuesday and are being positive, but the worrying that everyone else is doing is starting to catch up with us… Dave and I are hanging in there; his surgery is this coming Wednesday. We had the pre-op on Tuesday and are being positive, but the worrying that everyone else is doing is starting to catch up with us…well, all except my sister.
My sister is clueless and inconsiderate and apparently not worried; she called me today to throw a fit about Dad’s floozy girlfriend (I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned her), who just waltzed back into the picture this week. This makes the third rebound, I think; I’ve sort of lost track. She’s been staying with him since Monday. Her name is Marilyn so at first when Kathy called and told me Marilyn was with Dad I thought about your sister and wondered what was wrong with that.
So I had a talk with Dad which did absolutely no good at all; he and she will yoyo like a pair of adolescents and she’ll leave again, but not before taking some sort of vacation with him. As long as they split the costs, I do not give a flying … something. In fact, after taking two long vacations with him, she’s welcome to take him to the East Coast and push his wheelchair. She’s a lot younger than he is; she was 13 when he married Mom. I’m sure that’s the reason for his attraction to her, just as I’m sure that his money is her attraction to him. She doesn’t want to spend her own, because even though Dad insists they are worth exactly the same amount (yeah, right!) even if they are the difference is that his is liquid and hers is tied up, so his will spend much nicer for her. He said they’re thinking about moving in together.
Before I called him I told Kathy that I do not need the stress, and what did she want me to do about it anyway? Did she want me to call him? No, she didn’t. Well then, just what DID she want other than to upset me.
She did this two years ago when I was at my absolute sickest, when my docs were threatening to hospitalize me and give me multiple transfusions because I had almost no red blood cells and almost no white cells either. Must have had ice water in my veins. I was in bed most of the time, too weak to do much, and she would call and shriek about Marilyn.
And here I am, now, trying to hold things together while my online friends, people we’ve actually never met, are all needing to be reassured and organizing prayer circles, and the only reassurance I get is from people who are really not engaged and want to dismiss the whole issue, and my three kids are trying not to become emotional wrecks so I’m trying extra hard to hold it together for them. It is making me physically ill, but only mildly. I’ll be much better after Wednesday is over.
Sorry, just needed to vent. You’re lucky you got the G rated version. Read it again and laugh when you do, because what I wrote is cracking me up right now. I’m really funny when I rant, sometimes.
How nice that your house is paid off.
Um, how are you doing?
I’m so glad she has a sense of humor.