Journal 1st-2nd October
1st and 2nd October
New month and I've managed to calm down. Hearing from green eyes again has cheered me up inordinately, I am over the new moon. I send him a funny one liner wishing him well on his 60k cycle ride and 10k run. Mostly coz it means he'll be too tired to shag anyone else.
Will be sure to encourage his mid life sporting enterprises in future.
Anyway, the post-MRI appointment is today, none of it really matters, except it does.
I wish he was mine. I wish he was with me. Holding me through this.
Because he isn't, and is never likely to be, it just seems like so much entertainment up to the hospital date really. Nothing can happen.
None of them are actually here. No warm-bodied, man-scented hugs full with the swell of a breathing human being.
What good is email to me?
What difference does it make who they actually have their eyes or hands on.
Being loved over the ether isn't the same as being held.
And while I realise the now is not the time, I am exasperated and sad in my confusion of why now, to all of it. Why was he belly danced in front of me? Why is he writing to me?
I don't see my lesson.
So Saturday morning, I put on my new peridot merino sweater and grey silk skirt. I feel so Scottish in these colours, in these natural fabrics. They are of my ancient dry stane landscape.
I feel pretty in this outfit. In that together way. That 'fitting your skin' way. The way that doesn't need a man to look at me or email me for me to feel and believe it.
And I meet Indian princess. Stunning in pale green, sparkling away. Showing me the letter.
The letter from the MRI consultant. One of the most significant letters of my life.
The MRI has shown lots of them. Fibroid flowers. Not just one, a garden.
The uterus has grown 3cms in every direction in a month. Fuck. Am in Alien 3.
Compressing my bladder and bowel.
I already know that.
To take out the large external ones and leave the rest, which would continue growing, might need a return operation. After surgery there are adhesions - everything sticks to everything else. When your major organs like bladder and bowel are involved adhesively, it's time to bite the bullet.
When it's time to be responsible to your long term health, it helps to be wearing something that makes you feel pretty.
What would Ripley do?
She'd agree to a partial hysterectomy and drive to her favourite spiral tree in tears.
That's what she'd do.
But she's not daft our Ripley. She'd already have arranged to stay with country chums that night.
But first, the tree, to stand in it. To feel whole, by making it feel whole again too.
And in the slow walking Autumnal sunshine heartbreaking beauty of nature, Ripley would know.
All is well.
Now I know.
Just got the waking up to do.
Send a gal an email green eyes. Turns out it helps afterall.
Sex, love, romance. Comes (pardon the pun) and goes. There is only one thing that's critical to a life well lived. Friends. Loving friends who, even with your grief and saddest news, laugh along with you over more Greek food than you could shake baklava at and say oh stay the night.
I drive home, happy as Larry. Tears at the tree, laughter with friends. God knows how I'll get on with stitches staying out there. But I am so grateful for them and am looking forward to it.
I clear out my bedroom, it's been a mess for months, piles of clothes and books, no space, no chi flowing and I'll never have a man in it with all this stagnant energy laying around.
So I clear it.
All of it.
As I've been doing for the past year.
From chaos comes intention.
All is well.
All is very very well.