Thursday, 17 February 2011

The cancer has now moved to Kelly's spine. The tumours on her liver have increased in size and she has a new one on her hip, which may require surgery in order for her to remain mobile (hip cancer? Who gets hip cancer? I never heard of hip cancer). This was her last appointment at The Royal Free and I for one am well rid of it. Nothing good ever happened there; just the slow erosion of health, her trust and belief in people. The cancer is tearing through her and nothing seems to be able to stop it. It is a horde; a host. I have no idea how long she has left, how long I have with her.

I wasn't with her when she found out; her mum was. I had a psychologists appointment. I tried to cancel but Kelly wouldn't let me, reasoning that the best person to talk to would be a psychologist,under the circumstances. I could think of a better person right off the top of my head but she was busy, comforting her mother.

Walking to the appointment at Manor House in Islington I walk past a church. It has an Alpha Church banner draped over its venerable exterior, like forgotten bunting. The poster promises an examination of "The Meaning of Life" and I realise that I don't really understand what it is advertising. Why would life have a meaning? What would it possibly be for? I'm sure they offer a more or less arbitrary framemework of non-empirical interpretation of life and a quite literal deus ex machina. But life? Why should it have meaning? Red in tooth and claw isn't fucking half of it.

My psychologist got an earful today. As per usual she looked worried throughout and wanted me to have a lot more sessions. I'm having them weekly now when initially there was nothing for about a month available. I must give good madness. It's probably a mixture of the lack of eye contact and the occasional mirthless guffaw, like a frightened chimp. I look like I could start hurling dung at the smallest provocation. I did actually cry this time. I've been weeping spontaneously in the street, watching adverts and in the library (which got me out of a fine). But never in the psychologists were I usually just deliver a stuttered speech in staccato barks.

I'm growing as a person.

1 comment:

  1. Real men cry, Johnny...

    I know this - I'm reading your blog.