the last burnt sienna crayon

I wrote last night in anticipation and nerves of what was about to come. This morning I have a known quantity, and am feeling very disheartened about it.

I can deal with many things. But when it comes to pain, honest to goodness pain, I’m a wimp. And the disheartening comes from the feeling of having to live out a kind of prison sentence, a set punishment (for what? what have I done?) of an indefinite length. I am going to have to do this every day, perhaps for many, many years to come.

I feel sad and immature like a child yelling at their teacher who has put them in the corner for something they didn’t do, “It’s not FAIR!”

After 14 years I would have hoped that I’d have come further along the road to accepting my lot than I have done, and am ashamed at my childishness.

Tomorrow I must face the inevitable.

There are no more questions to ask or decisions to make about it, it’s no longer a question of ‘do I or don’t I’, or of making the right or wrong choice, no more worry, no more denial. It’s a done deal. Despite all fear, regardless of positive or negative results, it is going to happen. It is meant to become as much a part of my everyday life as eating, and to be done with just as little thought. Just something to do and get on with.

It feels a bit like a turning point to be back here. I’ve demonised and avoided the drugs as long as possible. And now I just need to find a way to accept it.

Everything’s changed now, anyway.

Yes, it’s time to hibernate. Hibernate, eat, hide and drink mulled red wine. And besides, mulled wine doesn’t count towards your weekly allowed alcohol units. . . does it?

The fact that I have written so little as of late (both on and offline) is evidence to this fact (the hibernation, not the alcohol units). Long nights, evening skies at noon, cold rain and wet, rotting leaves. I find December difficult and Thanksgiving to Christmas a bit teary. And I guess also this year getting flu (probably Swine flu) which turned into chest infection (bronchitis/pneumonia – was actually a bit frightening at times. One gets attached to the act of breathing.), and not getting treated quickly enough hasn’t helped my usual “happy go lucky” general life attitude. (HEY! No heckling in the back there!)

I came down with it was the day after my vaccinations, so therefore I only assumed it was a side effect of the jabs and didn’t get checked until I really was in a bit of bother, which delayed my treatment for the infection.

I love antibiotics. No really, I do. I’ve been on them almost 10 times this year, and I always just feel safer once they’re in my system. I guess having a damaged immune system can be a bit scary at times, especially when you just can’t seem to fight something off. So an “immune system in a pill” is a great idea, I think (even taking into consideration my usual reaction against all things tablet shaped!).

My cat is ill, my mom is too far away, my husband is travelling, and my friends must all want to be hibernating as well.

I’m in a bit of a resentful, self pitying, “i love you, go away” slump just right now and I am sorry. I’m sorry both to you, Reader, and to those who must encounter me in the everyday, that I am a bit of a “little black rain cloud” at the moment. I am trying, I promise. I’ve just got my head down and mostly trying to direct as much of my tunnel vision and non existent energy as I can at the Flower Child, who has been such a star while mummy has been ill.

(aside: toddler tip for ill mums: create a small gentle set of “duvet games” with your little one. Hide and Seek works well. They will love hearing “where’s Flower gone?!” until you flip back the duvet and exclaim “There she is!”, and it allows you to be vaguely horizontal for as many minutes as you can squeeze out of it. Hide and seek with toy animals works well too. Also the game “the one who moves first looses” is a good one. Anyway, it worked for us.)

I can’t see how to shift this fatigue or cough or lassitude or blue mood for the foreseeable future, and Christmas has always been a tough time for me anyway (at least since coming here from there).

So please show some forbearance with me, and I’ll try to at least act vaguely positive. Maybe by next week, at least.

Oo. And I mustn’t forget to get some ice cream.

The window envelope sat on the bed waiting for, daring me to, face it.

“To the parent(s)/guardian(s) of ______ ”

Of course it’s a standard, administrative way to address correspondence to the parent(s)/guardian(s) of a child, but after our/my struggle to become the parent(s) of _____, I’d really rather not be referred to as the guardian(s) of _____.

Call me picky, but. . . some things still just rub the wrong way. some things still hold the memory, and I’d rather not.

I knew what the contents of the letter would be, and I knew I would have to open it. I knew that if I opened it I would have to read it, and I really didn’t want to, but thought I may as well get it over with.

Yes, it retold all the gory details of that unpleasant meeting in May, where it was made perfectly clear that I am completely wrong, though he, our professional correspondant, was aware of how controversial the argument was, though he was aware of how passionately I felt about the issue at hand, and how he could understand how i felt and how stressful the whole thing was, but in the end. . . i was wrong. A room of two senior professionals (one, top in the country), one junior, and another adult all stood on one side of the line drawn in the sand, and I slid my chair back, quite literally, to the other, ganged up on, and standing out. Was I that strong to stand on my own there? Am I still? No, I don’t think I can be that certain. Passionate, convinced, but not certain. This nonconformist not only has a sensitivity to rejection, but a fear of standing alone, and of being wrong.

He didn’t use the word “wrong“, per se, because when it comes to philosophy and ethics, you can’t really, and you can’t prove anyone as being “wrong“, you only really have the majority and what they say to prove your case. But he and his collegues made themselves perfectly clear. No one in this country would support me in my opinion, and as I live in this country, that’s what any respectable and responsible parent/guardian would do. . . in their opinion. And as far as anyone is concerned, their opinion is what counts, as I am not a top professional of this kind in the country, only a parent, for what it’s worth.

I still don’t think he is “right” but he is not “unfair”. I am sure I must conceed. Everything tells me that his arguments are hypocritical. . . but I’m not interested in arguments anymore. I’m done arguing.

Who decides what “right” we have to anything?! He was as much making a decision for her as I was. When it comes down to it, no body has any “right” in this matter anyway, not me, not him, not even HER, as God has all the rights and has made all the decisions already. We simply don’t get a choice. Facts are facts. What right do we have to pretend they aren’t so. Don’t we do a child a disservice in teaching them denial, in teaching them that everything is ok, when it may not be. The line in that sand has a row of ostrich on one side, and me on the other.

But I must learn to quell my passion when it gets shaken up. It would seem that it, the things that it holds to, and I, are “wrong”. And I can’t in all honesty say, swear, that those on the other side of that line are not “right”.

So I went shopping and bought myself a tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

in the field of medical ethics, can i really be in such a complete minority? and does that actually indicate that i’m as wrong as everyone else here seems to think i am? for, when everyone else is actually more qualified than me, do i have a right to differ so strongly in opinion, when it affects more people than just me? but if i do what everyone else is wanting me to do and i don’t feel that it is really the right thing to do, then am i wrong to do it because i’ve not followed my strong gut feelings, or am i right to do it because i’ve followed the opinion of the more qualified majority?

when in the end, it’s not really my decision anyway, i just have to come to a decision to put to the person making the decision which may or may not affect his decision.

i choose ice cream.