6 August 2013
Special occasions don’t start with fireworks or with an extraordinary sunrise and awakening. Today was a grey, rainy day in the Western Cape and Boland’s wine region. Anneén left yesterday for Namibia for work, so I had to get the girls ready for school, sort the dogs out and tick-off my mental checklist of lunchboxes, reading-bags, vitamins (for them), Epilim (for me), dog food (for the 4 legged ones), umbrellas and signing the form for the nurses’ visit to school. Quite ordinary for an anniversary.
The trip to school was filled with playing “I spy” and “asking daddy hard questions”. Today’s clincher: “Why can only mommies have babies in their tummies?” (Do boys ask similar questions?), while filling the traffic cues to the local primary and secondary schools. Several cars with University students shot past, making the most of the current free parking situation in Stellenbosch. Dropping the girls off as the school bell announces the start of another day of learning. Close, but in time. All quite rushed, but precious moments as they turn around to throw themselves into a goodbye hug and run into the crowd of blue uniforms and playfulness. Ordinary does not rule our being touched by these moments.
Driving 45 minutes to work is more or less the norm. As is the case on my Monday and Tuesday journeys, my iPod playing the latest Kermode and Mayo’s film review podcast from BBC Radio 5 live (something I can recommend to any lovers of movies or talk about movies if, as with us, it is difficult to actually get to the cinema!). Nothing out of the norm, but the routine providing a sense of familiarity and security. Stopping at the first clinic to complete a memory assessment. Then to the hospital for a psychotherapy session at the heart unit, before arriving at our practice for two more consultations. Awareness of my anniversary is left in the car, while my focus shifts to the clinical and therapeutic tasks at hand. I am appreciating the privilege to be able to work and to be productive.
Lunch time I am rushing back home to look after our girls given that mum is doing a bit of jet-setting. My iPod’s shuffle kick-start Alanis Morrison’s “Thank You”. I am thankful that it is a year on. Should I say thank you for the brain tumour that dropped into my life in 2012? Alanis’ words resonate with me:
But no, I am not thankful that I had a brain tumour. But I know that I don’t have to fight against it (for now anyway there is nothing to fight against). Anneén and I had all of the above and I can find ways to be thankful for having these daunting experiences and what it taught us. But I am not trapped by them. I don’t have to fight. I can just take responsibility. I can look after my immune system, I can stay healthy (without overdoing it), I can run and can live life. I can love my family and friends and look after my emotional well-being. I can set challenges and we can have celebrations. Bob Dylan steps on stage after Alanis – my iPod is the coolest DJ!
In between doing the dad’s taxi service I stop off at Martin’s office. I feel a bit embarrassed about the “Thank you” – card. The options at the SPAR were limited to “field of flowers” or “laughing baby”. Flowers it was to accompany the bottle of red Tamboerskloof Syrah (no embarrassment about that choice though!). I am pretty sure he won’t allow the enjoyment to interfere with his next craniotomy, but hope he will raise a glass of the peppery and berry crimson nectar to celebrate my extraordinary-ordinary anniversary of life a year post-operation.
the moment I let go of it was the moment
I got more than I could handle
the moment I jumped off of it
was the moment I touched down