So yeah, it's back to being password-protected. Go figure. At first I was OK with knowing that certain people were reading this blog. And then I was not. I let it simmer for a while, but decided that I could only continue to be open, if I could control who reads my words.
Chubs had an operation a couple of days ago. They removed his gall bladder. Seems to be doing better now. He's sleeping in my father's room. At seven in the morning I'll give him a lift to his apartment where his girlfriend is crashing at the moment. She'll drive him back to JB.
Then on Sunday I give Arnold up. He seems to know something's in the air as he hasn't eating a thing the whole day and keeps coming up to me for a reassuring pat. Poor baby. Now he's curled up in a corner next to me. Asleep. Or faking it. Whatever.
Yesterday I played host to the friends of friends, or the cousin of a friend and her daughter. She told me my friend (who is 88 in May) is poorly. Kidneys failing. Eyes failing. Age, that didn't really seem to figure in his life, finally catching up with him.
Dying.
There was a point when Chubs was still in the operating theatre and it had been three and a half hours and my mother and father were on the verge of a nervous breakdown convinced that there had been complications and they were going to lose their only son, when I wondered why I was not experiencing a similar drama. Somehow, I knew he was OK. Even if my father kept pushing me to go ask the nurse (and after the op, go talk to the doctor).
Life has become a little surreal. I'm reading the Second Journey. And I go back to JB on Monday.
7 comments:
I'm glad your brother is doing well. Laparascopic gall bladder removal is fairly routine over here, and most people come through it with minimal complications. Still, I guess parents learn to be obligate worriers at some point, and then forget how to stop. Best wishes for Mr. Chubs' speedy recovery, btw.
I can certainly relate to those odd feelings of calm otherness as I seem to spend portions of each day or week in some sort of semi-dissociative state. It does not interfere with my occupation (in fact, the additional detachment is probably beneficial) but it can be trying for my close friends, if I am not feeling especially "plugged into the moment" when they want to enjoy my company or discuss topics with heavy emotional content. Sigh. More mysteries of the mind...
Good to know that you're still blogging!
Cheers,
Perl Hacker
Haha I think my brother will be happy to know that nickname is catching on (even his girlfriend has taken to calling him that, although we may not be able to call him that very much longer, what with the diet and everything) and the enforced exercise.
Good to know you're still reading.
And you want to know about how the folks worry when there is no reason, to worry, see following.
http://as1waspassing.blogspot.com/2009/01/recipe-for-disaster-that-never-happened.html
Lol--what a perfect description of my mum as well. The moment I fail to immediately return a casual call, the bracketing game begins: two calls the following evening, followed by one call early the next morning and three more calls later that evening, interspersed with frantic emails--Are you okay? Has something happened? We've been trying to reach you... Mind you, only two days have elapsed.
So hard to resist the temptation to fire off a quick reply:
terrible pain STOP both arms ripped off by heavy farm equipment STOP tapping out this telegram with a pencil held between clenched teeth STOP
:)
Glad to know he's doing okay. :)
God bless you and your family, my friend :)
Hahahahhahahaha love the telegram though methinks you would never send it. (Of course if you did your mom would probably appreciate the irony and have a good laugh about it). Somehow I think they just like to worry. Makes them feel more parental.
John, thanks. I think he's doing fine. Will see tomorrow when I return to JB.
You're right, of course. I know they mean well, so I try to keep a sense of humor about it... :)
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