Each time I write the date on a board in a classroom or type up lesson plans dated deeper into June is like a sharp prod in the ribs to remind me of what is now around the corner. This month, two weeks, in a couple of weeks, in a fortnight; the measurements of time are dwindling.
It's a strange feeling. Part of me is looking forward to it and wanting to get it over with so I can start the recovery. I'm just killing time now waiting for the inevitable. But in contrast there is the feeling of it all being a bit disruptive. Last year life I was so ill life had stopped, the diary had been cleared and so surgery was just part of the process. This year I'm still working, I'm still physically active and we'd got so much planned as a family to compensate for last years constant shower of shit. Walking out of school for the last time next week will be a funny feeling and their is a clear resentment of the things I will be missing out on both at work and home.
As we get closer, I am more and more distracted. It either consumes me and I withdraw or I go to the other extreme to ward it off and go hyper like a child who has just had his Smarties fix. In general, although far from crisis I can feel myself feeling unwell and symptoms from the dark times gradually returning. Unless I'm exhausted, sleeping is difficult and every meal becomes more and more like the last supper. When your health is in other people's hands you seem to spend ages waiting for dates and decisions. The feeling of wanting to just get up and crack on is frustrating. Going on my bike tonight helped but there is only so long I can cycle for without inadvertently ending up in hospital anyway. Then it's back to square one . . . waiting. And the constant urge of just wanting to get on with it.
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