‘See, Diarmuid?’ Elis said. ‘That’s why my mother wears a wig,’ and I couldn’t tell them off, I was laughing so much because I did look ridiculous. Children are great levellers.
February 28, Wednesday
After a courageous battle with illness over many years, ‘Fishy’ finally lost his fight for life. Cleaning the fish along with washing my wig, emailing caravan parks and doing my Welsh homework was on my Things To Do list. By the time I got to poor old Fishy he was floating on the surface of the tank, never to be revived. I say this because I have caught him floating a few times before and have managed to revive him.
Apart from a growth on his head, he did not like water that was remotely dirty, and when we got back from Ireland it was a little murky. It all came too late. I fished him out immediately (no pun intended) and put him in another bowl, but he was lying there all gold and shiny-looking for all the world as if he were alive, except he was floating on his side. I poked him and tried to get him upright, but no amount of rebalancing or swishing about in clean water was going to revive him. He was as dead as they come.
I felt like shit about it because I should have cleaned him out sooner. I cleaned the tank immediately so that ‘Rods’ didn’t go the same way. In the middle of it all the phone rang and it was my mother. I told her what had happened, and that I was upset and she said, ‘Tell Elis you’ll get another.’
I said, ‘I don’t want another, they’re a pain. I’m the only one who ever takes any notice of them and cleans them, and I feel guilty when they die.’ She was VERY sympathetic and said she knew exactly how I felt as Emily had them when she was younger and they were always dying, and Mum was always replacing them and cleaning the bloody tank out. We bonded hugely over the responsibility that goes with a goldfish that every child has to have but none of them ever look after. I picked Elis up from school and was dreading telling him, because the last time one of his fish died, although he hadn’t looked at them for years and I thought he wasn’t going to be too upset by it and had already flushed it down the toilet, he was hysterical and traumatised then wanted to see him – so I had to say I had buried him in the garden. So we got in the car and I said, ‘Elis, I have some very sad news for you. Your fish has died.’ His bottom lip went for all of two seconds and he said, ‘We can get another one.’ Then he said, ‘Which one?’ and I said, ‘The one with the orange thing on his head,’ and he said, ‘Oh, maybe we can get one that looks exactly the same, we’ll just keep replacing him.’
Bloody hell, there he goes again, I thought. Something dies, just get another one. Like men and wives: just get a smarter, prettier, thinner version. Can’t imagine Rhodri would go out and get a bald, size-fourteen-to-sixteen wife the next time round.
So as I was pulling away in the car Elis said, ‘I knew he was going to die today.’ I stopped the car and was a bit spooked by this, and I said, ‘How?’
‘Because the water looked a bit dirty,’ he said.
‘Oh, don’t say that, I feel really bad now,’ I said and he replied, ‘You don’t have to feel bad about it, Mum, it’s not your fault. I’m the one who is supposed to be looking after him. I’m the fish killer.’
I said that he wasn’t and that the fish was just ill and these things happen. I did feel very guilty though, until I was in Tescos with him buying Rhodri an anniversary card and I told him he couldn’t have something and he said, ‘At least I’m not a fish killer.’ Bastards, they have the knack of hitting you right where it hurts.
We went home and it turns out that Fishy is in fact Rods, although I was sure that wasn’t the case. However, Rhodri and I were instructed by Elis to gather round and say a prayer. Elis said he didn’t know what to say and asked me to say a few words and he told Rhodri off for not putting his hands together properly. So I thanked God for Rod’s life and letting us be a part of it and asked Him to look after him in heaven.
Elis was very pleased with this. I said I would bury him in the garden but Elis said it might be better if we put him in a bowl in the garden, so that way we could see him every day. Ah, if only life were as simple as that. I did, of course, bury him in the garden – just like the last time our fish died.
March 1, Thursday
Hapus Dydd Dewi Sant. It is St David’s Day today, but more importantly, it is our fifth wedding anniversary and Rhodri is taking me to Portmeirion where we spent our honeymoon all those years ago. Elis and Osh are going to their rural retreat – my parents’ farm – and my lovely sisters are taking Elis up and down to Cardiff to school. God bless them! My favours must surely be running out, but when ‘project vantastic’ as I am now calling my caravan hunt comes off the ground and when my eight-berth ‘holiday home’ is up and running (except I am not allowed to call it that because of the Welsh Nationalist thing), I can let them holiday there and return all the hundreds of favours they have done for me during my illness. I do know in my heart of hearts that they do not need repaying and if there was ever anything wrong with them, I would gladly do the same.
Elis was at the breakfast table this morning and I said, ‘It’s our wedding anniversary today, and we’ve been married for five years. You were two when we were married.’
He paused mid-Cheerios and did a double take. ‘Well, who did you get the zex with?’ he demanded.
‘Well, Rhodri, of course,’ I said.
‘What, you don’t have to be married to have zex?’
‘No.’
‘Oooh,’ he said as if I had just told him the most interesting fact he had ever heard. I should have told him that yes, you did have to be married, then he would wait until his thirties before he popped his cherry.
Rhodri is Outraged From Cardiff because Elis comes home full of Bible stories – which I think are a very good grounding for morality and, to be honest, what did he expect, sending him to a traditional Welsh-language school? Although I’m not impressed that he said he learnt that Eve was naughty in the Garden of Eden, possibly setting the bedrock for a life of thinking women are the bad ones. Hey ho. But Rhodri and Elis have some very interesting conversations about the origins of life, as Rhodri is a firm non-believer and Elis is a firm Christian, although Rhodri said that I cannot call a seven year old a Christian because he doesn’t know what it is to be a Christian. Based on that logic, I guess I shouldn’t call him a football supporter either, because surely he doesn’t know what that is at seven either!
Rhodri and Elis were discussing how life started and whether God created the earth in seven days. Rhodri told Elis this wasn’t true: earth was created by the Big Bang which, according to Elis, was created by God. I love it – but I never get involved.
Arrived in Portmeirion about four. This is really one of the most beautiful places in the world. I defy anyone to say otherwise. The view from our room over the estuary is magnificent. It is so peaceful here and the light changes by the minute.
March 2, Friday
We ate a five-course meal last night which was superb. Rhodri had a suit on with a black polo-neck jumper and looked very handsome, although he had brown socks on which were a bit of a no-no. Portmeirion is where they filmed The Prisoner and Rhodri really did look like Patrick McGoohan. I thought, God, I bet they think we are those Prisoner people who come here. Last time we were here there was a group of them and they dressed up in Prisoner outfits – fun, or a bit weird, I haven’t decided yet. I could hardly walk by the end of the meal and by ten o’clock was sleeping like a baby. I was so hot all night, I was sweating and I thought I was definitely menopausal but Rhodri woke up and said, ‘God, it’s boiling in here,’ and opened a window. So unless Rhodri is also menopausal then I can’t be sure if the chemotherapy has pushed me over the menopausal edge.
Either way, there is no sign of a period, much to Rhodri’s delight, as we have been at it like rabbits. This is married-couple speak for ‘we’ve done it twice in two days’. We only have one condom left as I happened to have some in a toiletry bag from ages ago and Rhodri only brought one as he tho
ught that was all the sex he would be getting.
‘I view sex like I view Cardiff City,’ he said. ‘I never expect them to win and if they do, then it’s a bonus.’ I laughed.
I progressed ‘project vantastic’ a bit more. I rang one of the holiday parks and told the lady my budget and asked her what she could do for that. She said she could get me something for that amount but it would be a basic caravan. She named the two models I’ve been looking at anyway. We are going down next Sunday to have another look – ooh, it is so exciting. I keep thinking it’s such a middle-aged thing to do, but then I think, God, I am middle-aged.
In Ireland I read an article about a woman who died of radiation poisoning from radiotherapy, but she had had her radiotherapy thirty-four years ago for breast cancer. Her husband said he wasn’t bitter about it because they had given her thirty-four years of life.
I thought, Bloody hell, if I get thirty-four years of life after this I will be ecstatic! In the beginning I used to think, Give me five years, then give me ten. Then I think, No, give me thirty-four or more.
Caravan park owners give you a time limit for keeping your caravan on their site; the one I’m interested in is fifteen years. I will be fifty-five by then and I will be very, very happy to get there. Turning forty means nothing. I wonder why anyone who has had cancer gives a toss about how old they are. As each year passes you’ve notched up another year in spite of it; you’ve stuck two fingers up to cancer and you’ve got on with your life.
I am looking out of the window as I write, the light is hitting the mountains and it looks more like a painting. I feel truly at rest and at peace, with nothing to do, nowhere to go, just sitting looking through the window at the herons fishing and the geese flying overhead. I’ve got the window wide open, it’s so warm. I can see why poets and writers and artists want to live here. It is inspirational – but bloody cold in winter, I bet.
We went for a walk this morning and a robin followed us all over the place. When we sat down it was inches away from my shoulder and it kept trying to sit on Rhodri; it was amazing, I took photos of it and it wasn’t put off by the flash. It is probably paid by Portmeirion to make the guests feel special and at one with nature, which we do.
There was a rainbow over the estuary yesterday evening right after we had our first shag. It’s a sign of brighter things to come. Maybe Cardiff will go up to the Premiership this season.
March 4, Sunday
Left lovely Portmeirion for another few years. The next time we go we’ll take the children, although we said that the last time, and I thought by the time our tenth anniversary comes along, Osh will be eight and Elis will be twelve. It seems another lifetime away, although Elis has teenage tendencies already so I’m not sure what he will be like when he actually is a teenager.
We stopped off at Rhodri’s parents on the way back for lunch. We haven’t seen them since Christmas. Rhodri’s mother asked me about my treatment and I had forgotten about it. I thought, Shit, yes, I’m having radiotherapy on Thursday and it has completely gone out of my mind! I’ve mentally ticked it off as I think it will be OK, like Helen the breast nurse said when she was going through everything: ‘After chemotherapy, radiotherapy is a walk in the park,’ so I am hoping that I will be walking in the park for the next month.
I have made no arrangements for the children and fully expect to take myself to and from it, as Rhodri is away for most of this month. So, basically, I’m on my own. I know my mother will step in if I need her but Elis has to go to school, so I have to stay here.
Arrived at the farm around 6.30 p.m. to pick the children up. I gave them the presents I had bought them. Lloyd and Elis had footballs – a big mistake, as try telling a four year old and a seven year old not to kick them around the house, but all the gifts went down well.
I have won a television in the school raffle, hurrah! I can’t believe it, I have never won anything in my life before and I will need a television for ‘project vantastic’ when it comes to fruition. I said to Rhodri that maybe I should give it back to the school and he said, ‘For Christ’s sake, Shelley, don’t be a martyr all your life. You won the television, take the television.’ So I did.
March 5, Monday
I have been trying to do Welsh, but the house is in chaos so it’s a bit difficult. I will definitely sit the exam but may not be able to keep up if my appointments clash with the lessons this month. Either way, I am continuing with it as I will speak it, and, if I can get the hang of mutations, then I can conquer anything.
Rhodri and I have started doing Weight Watchers together. We don’t do the classes, we just do it at home. I have bought Weight Watchers bathroom scales for us and Rhodri and I are very excited about it. Until I bought them I would not have any scales in the house in case I became obsessed with weighing myself. However, what this means is that I never know if I am putting on weight, so now I do need to monitor myself. I want to make sure when I whip my wig off for all the world to see that I’m not looking like a balding Billy Bunter.
Elis said, ‘Your hair is growing back really nicely, Mum,’ and I thought what a lovely thing it was to say, but then he added, ‘But it’s grey so that must mean you are really old.’ It is mainly grey and I’ve only just hit forty. My grandmother was grey from a very young age so I guess I take after her – along with the martyrdom element to my personality, which I also share with her.
March 6, Tuesday
Bugger, bugger, bugger. The woman at the caravan park who said she could sort me out a nice van for my budget now tells me she can’t. I cannot believe how complicated this caravan malarkey is. I have spent three hours on the internet and ringing caravan sites trying to arrange some appointments for Sunday, as Rhodri isn’t around after that for a month, so if we don’t see anything suitable on Sunday it will be ages before we can get anything sorted.
The weather at the moment is glorious and I keep thinking we could be down at our caravan this weekend – if we could get one. After all my phone calls I’ve found three possibilities in a beautiful area where we went on holiday a few years ago, so if any of them is any good we will be taking it there and then. Except I haven’t actually got the money yet, so will have to take my credit card.
Joanne and Mum did their Kim and Aggie bit and came down and rescued me from the house, which was threatening to consume me with clothes and mess. Yesterday afternoon I fell asleep in the chair and my mother rang and I said I was tired, and she said, ‘Yes, you have suffered an emotional trauma,’ (not the attempt to do the housework but the cancer). Usually I dismiss such statements but it’s difficult to remember that it is a big bloody emotional trauma.
You concentrate on all the physical elements of your illness and of course you know that it is upsetting and distressing, but it is an emotional trauma and that in itself is exhausting.
Alison K rang and asked me how I was and I said I was tired but I couldn’t remember if this is how tired I felt before all of this, as I was always tired, and that was because I had two small children and a husband who was never around. She said, ‘If it’s any consolation, Neil and I are permanently exhausted.’ I think that’s just a parent’s lot in life, when you have small children.
I definitely think I have menopausal symptoms. I have been reading on the internet that chemotherapy can cause the menopause but can also cause menopausal symptoms, thus having the symptoms without having the menopause, but in my age bracket there is an 80 per cent chance that I will actually have the menopause. I definitely have the hot flushes, although they are nothing I can’t handle.
The other major thing is that my periods have stopped (hurrah) and also I keep getting waves of anxiety washing over me, a bit like when you have to stand up and give a presentation which you don’t want to do but know you have to. I couldn’t understand what the anxiety was really about, but it’s something that happens when you have the menopause apparently. Now I know that, I don’t feel so bad, as I was thinking there was something else wrong with m
e.
I told Rhodri this, as I’ve been asking myself what I’m so anxious about all the time. Then I proceeded to go through the list of other conditions associated with the menopause and asked him if he’d noticed them in me, like aggressiveness, irritability, anger, headaches, or mood swings. By the end of reading the list he was laughing in a mildly hysterical way as he says (yet again) he’s not going to know the difference between the pre- and post-menopausal me.
Apparently there is a test you can take which tells you if you are menopausal, although you are only finally declared menopausal after six months without periods. Sage tea is good for hot flushes. I have bought the tea but have yet to drink any. Just owning it makes me feel better already.
March 7, Wednesday
I have been gardening today and my back feels as if someone has jumped on it. The good news is that after two years of traipsing up and down the garden with our compostable waste, I can actually use it. I have real compost; it actually works! It is a very satisfying, self-righteous feeling to think that my plant pots are filled with all the stuff that we have thrown out and which would have otherwise ended up in landfill. Me and Al Gore will single-handedly be saving the planet.
Had lunch with Manon today in the Japanese – very nice and we had a glass of wine and felt very naughty. Manon has left the BBC and has started doing ‘The House of Colour’. She looks at all the colours that suit you, depending on your own colouring. She offered to do mine but I was a bit worried that she might tell me that black is not my colour, as it tends to make me look a bit washed-out but I have an entire wardrobe full of black as it’s very slimming. I must do lunch more often. When I leave the house I really enjoy it but I convince myself I have to do all these jobs which will still be here when I get back.
My Mummy Wears a Wig - Does Yours? A true and heart warming account of a journey through breast cancer Page 24