My poor wife.
She’s unsurprisingly exhausted after 10 days of more or less solo parenting, as well has having had to look after her invalid husband and occasionally apply unguents to places that she shouldn’t have to see in daylight.
I’ve been trying to help out as much as I can, but it’s hard to remember that I still shouldn’t be lifting anything heavy or exerting myself too much. Like I have from the beginning of all this I feel a bit of a fraud. Even though technically I am not a fraud. When I went in for the original scan I was feeling like I was wasting the medical staff’s time as I knew his was just epididmyitis and the scan was strictly precautionary. So it was a bit of a surprise to be told there was something going on in there that there shouldn’t be. But come on, I was feeling fine and had no symptoms or history in my family, so this was still going to be nothing. And then when I went in for the first CT scan and everyone else was frail and gasping for breath and in beds and old and I was sitting happily writing my blog, it felt like I was taking up resources that should be going to someone properly ill.
Even when I had the operation to take the thing out I thought that it would probably turn out to be nothing bad and I’d just wasted everyone’s time and fifty per cent of my testicles.
Even when I found out it was cancer, I still felt that people had been making a fuss about nothing and that it didn’t deserve to be called that. All those people with proper dangerous ones and I come along with my 99% curable one and get to pretend that I’m in the same boat. I mean, technically I am a cancer survivor (I’ve had cancer and I am not dead), but given I have had nothing more than a couple of weeks of post surgery discomfort it’s hard to stand up on the pedestal with all those people who’ve been through a proper ravaging illness and come out on top. Or indeed all the people who succumbed.
And now I get to lie in bed for a fortnight whilst my poor wife has to get everything done, even though I basically feel fine (almost the worst part of it has come from jock strap soreness). Like I say, I am a fraud. But I guess I have to milk it for all I can. Because technically I’m going through something terrible and so you all have to be nice to me. I’d be mad not to grasp this opportunity with both hands and make the most of the holiday, but I still feel bad.
Out of guilt I tried to make myself a bit useful today and it tired me out and then I gave my son a bath and sort of semi-lifted him up at one point and realised that that had been a mistake. I have been through something, even if it should really be called something else out of respect to everyone who’s done the proper deal. And hey, you never know your luck. I might get to do a proper one in the future. And even with 99% success, there’s 1% failure. At least I wouldn’t feel so bad about leaning so heavily on the NHS and my wife if that was the case.
So fraud I may be. Just as I may find it hard to slow down to a near stop. But I suppose I have to accept that this has not been nothing and the more I relax now the sooner I’ll be fit to help out.