Thursday, March 22, 2012

Wednesday


7.15 a.m. Send thirteen year old boys to school with euphonium and trombone for some calmin' tootin'.

7 a.m. Drive 11 year old son to school to pick up USB to finish his powerpoint. Be chided by secretary for using teacher carpark.

7.45 a.m. Drive 9 year old daughter to school for choir practice. Notice how beautiful she is as she walks from car. Tell her you love her and ignore her eye rolling.

8.15 a.m. Drop 3 year old daughter at kindy and leave with a clean day stretched in front of you.

8.30 a.m. Eat brekky, clean up carnage from offspring and shower. Wash hair. Do laundry even though it is raining and the bruises are hurting on Lefty when you hang the washing. Who knew?

9.15 a.m. Ring doctor. They still have no results but will ring back when they arrive.

9.30 a.m. Get a haircut because you feel the need to spend money on your hair to prove that you will not lose it and because yesterday was Shave for a Cure day. There is irony here somewhere.

10.30 a.m. Go to elderly parents' house and insist on helping them move heavy furniture around their family room. Busy, busy, busy.

11 a.m. Ring doctor and ask why the hell they haven't rung with the results. They book you an appointment for 1p.m. Chat with parents and drink many teas.

12.45 p.m. Lie to parents and say you are going to Aldi but go directly to doctor.

1p.m. Wait for doctor. Read about Jennifer Aniston. Tear out knitting pattern for cupcakes hoping it will make them notice you are there. Jump up when doctor calls for Mary-anne. It's Anne-marie, you todger!

1.15p.m. Remain polite and calm while doctor tries to get results. Answer mobile to have son 2 ask for forgotten football boots. Results are still in the fax machine. Answer mobile to tell husband I am talking to doctor. The QML lady won't read the results out on the speaker phone. Thank you, QML lady. Answer mobile to tell mother in law I am still with the doctor. Be chided by doctor for asking too many questions.

1.30 p.m. Walk out calmly smiling saying something vacuous like 'See you next time.' Think, 'I won't be seeing you again, mate!' Go to pay bill and start crying when the receptionist says,'So you're right then.' NO I'M NOT, ACTUALLY!!!

1.32 p.m. Walk briskly down corridor till you hit a treatment room and run into a dead end and start crying more. Young, handsome doctor (I'm still observant) comes in to see if I am stealing drugs but rethinks and guides me to his room to let me sit and breathe fast and ring my husband. Scare the shit out of poor, dear husband on the phone. Sorry, husband. Thank you, young handsome doctor.

1.45 p.m. Go to counter, politely apologise and try to pay. Be waved away by sweet sad faced receptionist telling me there is no charge. Fair enough. Who wants to pay for that news?

2.05 p.m. Find yourself holding a football boot in each hand with a cold head and light as air body in front of large bronze Madonna (the holier one). How did I get here? Have no recollection of the drive across three suburbs. Chat vacuously to school staff at the boys' school where I leave the shoes. Be grateful boys are at school till 5 p.m.

2.50 p.m. Pick up Shorty from kindy. Start to get wet eyes when she runs to hug you. Blurt it all out to the lovely kindy lady who has known and taught all your kids for ten years.

3.30p.m. Go home, you crazy woman, and hug son 3. Make sixteen pikelets because that's what you do. Watch eleven year old eat twelve pikelets. Say nothing.

4.45 p.m. Put daughter in (shallow) bath with eleven year old and go to get other daughter from swimming . See friends at swimming and talk vacuously about class numbers. Head is still cold. Wonder if they all think you are stoned.

5 p.m. Hug one friend at the car for a very long time. Remember children at home. Hurry home.

5.15 p.m. Find bath children dry and dressed- not drowned. Hug husband for very long time. Ignore him when he says to lie down. Fold large pile of towels because that's what you do. Play cards and memory with daughters. Crochet.

7p.m. Fall into a deep and dreamless sleep with toddler.

10 p.m. Wake up and make tea. Crochet. Watch 'About Schmidt'. Look at at sleeping children. Get into bed with toddler. Inhale baby hair smell from her neck nook. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Tough day at the office.

photo by Lala









33 comments:

  1. Many many tears in my eyes and in my heart. Breathe Annie, Breathe!

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    1. It is already easier to breathe today!

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  2. The doctor chap who told me I probably had just six months to live made an arse of it too. I was 23. I went home and cuddled my first born, a cute toddler with curly fair hair. He'll be 30 this summer, his hairline is receding! It was all such a long time ago yet every moment of that day is etched on my brain. You will be okay, you remember that, alright x

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    1. Now those are stories I want to hear! Looking forward to seeing my sons' hairline recede!

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  3. Just wanted to wish you well, and send my good thoughts. I only know you through your blog, but that's enough to feel so much sympathy for what you're going through. It's a horrible, shocking experience, but you will get through it, and you can survive it.

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    1. Thank you for dropping in. I will get off this topic soon but it's all I can think about right now but it must be nearly to make something besides pikelets.

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  4. Oh Annie, I'm wishing I were closer and could do something. Anything. Just tell me.
    xo

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    1. How can you not think you are doing anything. To have united souls sending multiple massed hope in the form of prayers, white light comments is all good fodder for my heart. x

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  5. What a beautiful photo by Lala and how sweet are those baby arms. Nothing like a handsome doctor for comfort and then a good blurt out to the kindy teacher. You are doing amazingly well, particularly making pancakes and having your haircut. What's a euphonium? x

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    1. Have I never posted about the beast in the corner of the lounge room? I'm surprised you didn't trip over it when you walked in last time. It is a mini tuba which B1 plays under duress! Not really a jamming instrument. He'll swap eupho lessons for some surfing lessons if B is interested!

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    2. I think I remember asking you what it was on my last visit, but with my short term memory problems I forgot. Yes it doesn't sound very hip, though I am sure he will make it look cool. Surfing lessons can be arranged.

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  6. This will not be who you are. This is just a part of your life that you must get through. It'll make you stronger and your experience will help someone else deal with what you're going through.

    I'm glad you're crying. Crying makes a big difference. Massive hug.

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    1. My husband just came to find out why I'm crying. How do you answer that? I'm crying for the pain somebody I've never even met is currently experiencing. A lady I don't know, but feel is my friend. A lady, who I'm sure is currently hugging her babies close and wondering what the future holds.

      One day at a time Annie. You now just have to methodically deal with what is put in front of you each day and do what has to be done.

      I wish I had the right words. Know that you are in our thoughts.

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    2. PS. That obviously wasn't meant to be a reply.

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    3. No, it's not who I am although there's not much room for the other me for a few days. This is so not who I am that I am having trouble recognising myself. She'll be back soon. I will be Hercules!

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    4. Reply schmeply. Your words are such a remedy. Just all get yourselves to a mammogram soon!

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  7. You all give me wet eyes with your kind wise words. Isn't it funny that you can feel you know people so well when you haven't physically met. Ironically back when people wrote letters it was probably quite common. I do feel a bit self indulgent flopping this out there into your screens but it is SO GOOD to share it. I'm actually feeling pretty good today. Anna is coming and I'm going to see the doctor of choice (D.O.C.) this afternoon. Yesterday was the bottom of the sandpit. We are a bit further up today! x

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  8. I'm ugly crying for you. Like everyone else who knows you only through your blog, I can't help thinking of you as a lovely friend. One day at a time ...it's such a cliche but that's my specialty...Hugs to you. xx

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    1. I have never had anyone ugly cry for me before. I feel quite honoured. It's a bit like a good chick flick with all of us having a good cry together.

      One day when we are old we should have that AGM and watch Affair to Remember together!

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  9. wow. bit speechless here. but on the up side you're a mum, and obviously a powerful one. you'll flick this thing off. seriously, you will.

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    1. Hello Jules. I will start visualise flicking as that image works well for me. I'm not sure about the 'powerful' part. It took an hour to get number 1 to put his pants on today! It was a good diversion though!

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  10. Heartbreaking reality right there. Came over to offer love and support from one Qld blogger to another {Kim posted your link on our group page}. I'm not sure of your back story but I read enough to know it sounds like you have a fight on your hands. Go be awesome. We've got your back. Flick it. I think that's the perfect imagery.

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  11. I've just popped in to offer my support too. We have never met and I have never read your blog before. My heart is lead in my chest as I try to imagine what you must be going through. What a rotten stinkin thing this is. But I know others who have moved on and beyond it. You will too.

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  12. How can I help you?
    Physically impossible.
    But my spirit merges with yours and goes to the heart of matter in prayer.
    I share your pain and walk beside you .
    Reach out and I'll be there.
    I'm glad Anna's coming today.
    Pax.

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  13. Annie darling - you're showing such strength and I know you will continue to throughout this bumpy ride. You are in my thoughts. xxx

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  14. Dear Annie,
    I don't know you but I do feel your pain and your worry and your tears. I am so sorry. Two and a half years ago my 23 year old daughter called me and gave me some news from her doctor's checkup. The news wasn't good. It was terrible. I cried and cried and felt so helpless and didn't know why this was happening or how I could make it all better. Thankfully with treatment and a lot of prayer she is better today and I am so glad that I was able to talk to God and ask for His help. Talk to Him as He is always listening. I will pray for you and for your family. Please know there is hope. Where there is hope there is love.

    hugs and love,
    Danielle

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  15. Popped over from Qld Bloggers to say hi, and now I'm in tears, my heart goes out to you. Hugs from another Mum and another blogger

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  16. popping in to read about your journey, Kimmie sent me....(thanks Kimmie) Ive shared on blogland before, and am amazed at the support readers give you in their words and their heartfelt comments....so Im up for giving it back in any way , shape , form.....all I can say is, toddler smell, asleep in your arms at night can put pieces of your heart back together and renew strength in you that you never thought you could muster....childrens love is like magic medicine...............x Suzanne...

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    1. Beautiful Suzanne x

      I have a almost 19 year old :/ Where can I get me a toddler lol? Oh that sounded suss eh :-0 but seriously I can cast my mind back and remember, a lil childs love is indeed like magic medicine.

      Kim (aka Kimmie)

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  17. Your honesty and writing is beautiful. x

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    1. I have to agree with Sonia - this is a truly powerful introduction.

      This post and all the comments that you've left paint such a clear picture of your strength, great sense of humour and wonderful sparkle.

      I'm looking forward to getting to know you better.

      xx Felicity

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