I got so fed up with the state of the world and everyone around me moaning - like I've got all the answers? FFS (for fuck's sake-and now I have to restart the swear box, since I wore out the old one), I don't even know half the questions. We find out the questions, search for the answers, and by the time we get them, we keel over and croak. What's fun about that?
But seriously...I went off grid for a week, out into the wilds of Kent, into a small guest house with no radio, no television, no computer access, and no noise. None. If I wanted to go online, I had to go to Costa, and it was a case of maybe it'll work-then again, maybe not. So it was a real learning experience, I can tell you.
There was a Tesco, so I didn't starve, and there were several churches, in case I felt the need to sit on a bench by the churchyard and do absolutely nothing. There were lots of hairdressers, and two pubs. Around me in North London there are more pubs than hairdressers. In fact, there are more pubs than anything else!
I brought a book, which I read in a couple of days, since there wasn't really anything else to do. And I walked - a lot-and sat by the churchyard and meditated. Now-I'm not a weirdo, just in case you think that I am someone who is macabre and loves cemeteries. But I remember (vaguely, it was a while ago) stopping at the cemetery near our summer home and reading the headstones. I always notice the dates, the inscriptions, and, most importantly, if the graves were being well cared for. I used to wonder what the people were like when they were younger, and when I saw a child's grave I always said a little prayer. Weird? Well, maybe. And I remember my mother telling me to never step on a grave, always go around, because it' very disrespectful to step on someone's grave.
That all came back to me as I sat by the churchyard, noting how many graves were left untended, wondering what happened to the families of the deceased. Perhaps I'm wondering if I will end up like Eleanor Rigby (if you know the reference, I know how old you are!).
One thought always leads to another, and in the stillness and peace and quiet that I enjoyed while I was hibernating, I started thinking about longevity, and how it's true that nobody gets off this earth alive. Sooner or later, we all croak, and we've got no idea when or how it's going to happen. So we need to put our skates on and do the best we can right now, because we don't know if we will still be around tomorrow.
That isn't really negative; it's simply realistic. I'm thinking about the Stoics and how they said we should make the most out of everything while we still can. And on Tuesday, my GP's office called to ask for a sample for the lab. I'm losing a lot of weight, and I'm not doing too well, so everyone is bothered. I left a sample, and went on my merry way. But-
On Wednesday afternoon my GP called me. My GP never calls me, she's that busy-so I knew there was a problem. There was the presence of blood. She said that she is fast-tracking me to the colorectal cancer surgeons at my hospital. You can imagine my state of absolute panic. Calm? Cool? Unworried? Oh, hell, no. My mother was one of nine children, and I used to joke that at that time there was no television-but seven died of cancer, the other two keeled over from heart attacks. So there's a very unpleasant history there.
I got a call from a nurse on Thursday night, and a call from another nurse last night. I've got an appointment to see the surgeons next Thursday afternoon. We'll then decide the next move. Oh, joy-just what I didn't want and never expected.
Of course, I emailed my friends, and they all raced back with notes of support. They also reminded me that it could be nothing-and if it was something noxious, they will take care of it. It isn't like lockdown, where surgeries were cancelled because people were dying of Covid. Another reason to be thankful: two lots of Covid and a lengthy period of long Covid, still here, still kicking, still mouthing off and trying to help people who can't (or won't) help themselves.
Will I ever change? Nah-probably not. Once an activist, always an activist.
So-that brings us up to date. I will, of course, let you know what the surgeons decide. Meanwhile I'm trying very hard to be grateful for living this long and being this healthy. Trying. Not necessarily succeeding, but trying anyway.
