Arse

I must write a blog, I must write a blog, I must write a blog – my chant has changed to this over the last week or so. So here I am – and here are all of you? Or are you there, helllooooooo? It can be odd at times talking to the ether, not really knowing if anyone is listening to you. I write the words on my screen and with a click of a button I expose my arse to the world with very little thought as to who actually sees it. It’s quite liberating really as I have always been quite protective over who gets to see my bottom!

So Paul came home on Tuesday – they turned his arse around in a day or two as I think the docs are of the same mentality as us – that he is best off at home. The first weekend we spent together really highlighted that fact. I think we both felt apprehensive about going from total care on the NHS to total care at home. It should be the easiest thing in the world but I suppose we haven’t spent that much time together over the last year so it takes some adjusting.

Homecoming is always amazing. But this time it is laden with sadness because ‘coming home’ means coming home to die. That’s the upshot, that’s the SP, that’s the reality. Probably some of the reason I have found it hard to write recently is because I would have to say those words. But tonight I feel ok with them. Not happy and not resigned and certainly not accepting but to a degree aligned with them..

There are no drugs that can save him. The miracle cure in the states came just a little too late. He has said that even if he could get it he’s too tired to fight. He hasn’t given up the day to day fight of staying alive and enjoying his family and his life but he’s done with hospitals and drugs that make him sicker than the cancer and sometimes bring him closer to death than the disease.

So he’s home.

So we carry on.

So we live a day up

and

a

day

down