Week two of my new office hours and I’m getting into a rhythm. Fatigue is so constant it has become standard. It’s my new normal. But I’m buoyed by having heard from my sister although disappointed not to have heard a peep from Harry or Andy and Elizabeth. I keep reminding myself I mustn’t expect anything.
I hang my coat on the stand, check my phone just in case one of them has tried me (a new habit), then sit at my desk feeling despondent. As I’m turning on my computer screen, Pattie appears at my open door.
“Knock knock,” she says then walks in, shutting the glass door, which instantly concerns me.
“How are you? You okay?” she says.
“Yes. I’m okay.”
“I’m glad. If you honestly mean that.”
“I do. I’m adjusting.”
She sits down in the chair opposite me and leans forward, her elbows on my desk, her hands rubbing at her mouth nervously. “Listen, I don’t want to worry you, but I think people are beginning to suspect.”
“Oh.” My heart sinks. “Why? Has someone said something?”
“No,” she says. “It’s a gut feeling.”
I lean back. “Pattie, it’s because you know. Knowing makes you suspicious. You’re looking for stuff that isn’t there. Honestly, I’ve been at meetings, I’ve been with people; everyone acts normally around me. No one has spotted the Grim Reaper except you.”
She frowns. “I’m not so sure.”
My stomach flips. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
“No, no! And I wouldn’t. Not unless you said.” She sighs and cocks her head. “Don’t you want people to care about you?”
“Of course, I do. But I’ve chosen the ones I want. It’s easier that way.”
“Well, then I guess I should feel flattered.” Her teeth snag at her lower lip. “And obviously I’ll keep schtum.” She pauses and I’m waiting for the “but.”
“But I want you to know I think you’re amazing.”
I smile. This was not the “but” I was expecting. “No, you don’t. You think I’m odd.”
“That too. But amazing odd!”
We both laugh and she grins resignedly. “I’d like to hug you, but I know you’ll just think I’m being overemotional.”
“I’d let you but I might become overemotional and I’m avoiding that at all cost.”
She blows me a kiss. “Take that for now then.”
I reach out as if to grab it. “Thanks.” I blow one back but she’s already turned away, her shoulders hunched, her head down in sorrow. Exactly what I don’t want to see. Exactly why I’m hanging on to secrecy.
I turn back to my screen with a heavy heart. The day has barely begun and already I’m depleted.
I still haven’t taken any of the tablets Dr. Mackenzie prescribed, determined to hold on to my vow for better or worse. And I don’t yet need the morphine patches. I’m seeing him the end of this week, although I’m not sure I’ll tell him I’m avoiding medication even if it’s not unusual for people given months to live.
Having avoided them at all cost, I’m afraid I’ve started to read some blogs about dying. There are so many out there once you start looking. Sometimes they’re helpful, sometimes you’d rather not know, but reading them makes me feel I’m not alone, which gives me the strength to persevere drug free while I can because a lot of bloggers choose the no-drugs route.
For now, while I can still get up, still walk, still make a cup of tea, I’m grateful. Those small things are important. They allow me to get through each day. For the most part, I’m okay, although, given half the chance, negative thoughts will find a way in, whether I invite them or not, so I’m glad to keep working and hold them at bay.
They have their moments, though; they break in at night when the specter of the letters looms largest. I lie there, stomach clenching at the thought of Harry sneering at my words, binning my letter like an unwanted flyer, or Andy and Elizabeth laughing together, in total disbelief that they are in any way guilty. Imagination can play dangerous tricks when you’re robbed of sleep, robbed of so much.