Is it fair for me to describe this year as my worst ever? I think so, after all it's my life so I should be free to designate the years as good, bad or indifferent as I see fit.
But of course I'm being subjective, bad things have happened before. Have there been more bad things occuring this year, or is it simply that they're fresh in my mind. Well, let's consider the evidence.
January to April were pretty good: the book was taking shape, I was on top of the housework, even a job looked like it might be on the horizon. Then May came along and things changed.
I'm going to gloss over some of the details, because of embarrassment, questions of relevance, and a desire to keep this relatively brief. So here's the short version:
Charlie was in pain, excruciating pain for several weeks, which culminated in us going to Accident and Emergency. This was bad because I didn't like to see her suffering, and worse because I hate hospitals, I loathe them. A completely irrational response I know, but that's how I am. Anyway, we saw the doctor, got the treatment and went home.
A week later I got a phone call to tell me that Charlie had been admitted to the ward and that they were planning a 'procedure' (oh, how I hate that word). Now perhaps it was the shock of the news coming by phone call, or the fact that she had been fine when she went to work, but something caused my brain to go into overdrive. I struggled to cope with the news, but worse I had to go back into the hospital.
When I got there I found that Charlie had been prescribed opiates and entonox to relieve the pain, and she was pretty high. She was a space cadet. This wasn't good for me: Charlie has always been my rock, the one to keep me grounded, and here she was, injured, in pain, drugged, and about to go for a procedure.
My mind circled around ideas of death and solitude. No-one could console me, no-one could even reach me. Only one person ever could at that point and she was out of reach. Compounding the problem was the fact it was a weekend, the operation they were planning kept being postponed whenever an emergency came in.
For three days I travelled to and from the hospital, part of me hoping the procedure hadn't been done, that she wasn't going under a general anaesthetic, part of me hoping it had been done and it was all over. All of me dwelling on the worst possible outcome and sinking deeper into despair.
Finally I got the call to say that she was going into theatre...
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