I feel pain from the drain bottle I'm still attached to and irritation where blisters are forming next to the sticky plasters I can't tolerate. It seems major. It's not. I think about two men awaiting a cruel fate in Bali. How must they be feeling? What must they be thinking? That's major. My worry is not.
Then I think about some old friends who are experiencing a hard time but only "shared" today, days later. They didn't want to add to my load as I was having an operation. I'm upset. I love my friends and don't want to be " that" friend that no one can talk to because my situation will always be worse.
And I think about what I just wrote. It will always be worse. Yes it probably will and now there's double dose in this family. And there are conversations that start and end with " it's not fair". No, it's not fair but we work with what we've been given. And we soldier on.
And just as quickly the next thought is for young Meghan, an 11 year old girl with CS. Ashton wrote a news piece for a journalism class on this child and her mother, who are exemplary in blazing a trail in how to manage our condition. Then I think of the photo of her hugging the boxing kangaroo I sent her last week. Apparently it's going to hospital with her next week. It's not fair. She's only 11...but she's tough
My children are equally tough. Today I took them to lunch - just me and my girls. It seems lately that we can't be in the same place at the same time long enough, so lunch was a treat for me, even when they started arguing. I miss this noise. Even with a noisy husband my home lacks heart. It lacks their noise, their smell, their chaos. I ache to turn the clock back but know it will never happen.
And just like that the tears start to flow. It happens occasionally. I have coped with lots in my life but living a long distance from both my children cuts me in half.
Today Ashton did her final interview. We've now had enough of the topic but marvel at how stupid the media is. Despite all that has happened in the last week, only one media outlet asks for proof of Ashton's medical condition. We give it willingly. We have nothing to hide. But we're smug because once again they've made the same mistake without checking.
It's late and cold. I worry about Ciara working at the cafe till all hours. It's messing with her body clock and she doesn't need this in a week of assessments. I loved listening to her warm up today. That voice!
I haven't seen my husband in almost a week. I can't go home because of this stupid drain and because in between assessments for both girls, we need to pack. Yes...we're moving...cos this is a great week...not.Ashton chose the place. I haven't seen it except in photos. It's a big girl decision. If she can shake up the Australian media, do radio interviews and vote, then she can choose a new place to live.
I say a quick prayer. I beg God for a miracle and to spare the guys in Bali.
I pray that God blesses my family and that my mother stops asking me where my sister is taking her for Mother's Day. Honest to goodness! Patience is a virtue woman.
I pray for drains to be out, tumours to be benign, appointments to be made easily and maybe some good fortune to come my family's way. It's about bloody time don't you think?
Till next time...xxx
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