annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Day 29 There was yoga today, halloo, hallay, and thank fuck and all that. It took me a long time to let go and relax into it, but I got there in the end, massive. Tomorrow I have acupuncture too, which I hadn't realised till I got the reminder text. The week isn't looking quite so scary, though there's def something about NYE with himself that just shrivels me up inside. But there you go. I've got earache and a sore throat and had managed to believe it was cancer of the ear, nose and throat combo till I read something about grief being written on the body - here we are, me and my two kids, all awash with minor ailments, so it's probably that. This is not the time to grow old though, is it? Our hospitals are right in the shit with the ten years of under-funding finally hitting crisis point. There have been notices posted online from Devon and Cornwall saying not to come to A&E and there are no children's intensive care beds in other areas. If we had a Prime Minister with a touch of humanity this would be viewed as a crisis requiring a response, but actually it's the plan unfolding as intended so he's swanning around a Caribbean island on his holidays. It's only poor people anyway, that use the NHS. As in the 99% of us that aren't millionaires. There are two things I really don't want the US to have a say in, healthcare and food. Most of us are really resistant to the very idea, but none of us know how to stop it happening. I tell myself not to panic - I have loads of pals in the US and they survive. Apart from the ones that haven't, though. Like Barb and Em and Reenie and Paula. Barb and Em were definitely victims of the US system, and would almost certainly not have died here. Reenie I don't know about and Paula I'm not sure, but my pal M had the same cancer as her at the same time and was given all sorts of dietary and other advice as a matter of utmost importance, which Paula didn't get. I tried to pass it on but she was inundated by different advice from all sides and couldn't listen to any of it. I didn't know then and still don't know if it was the key, but I don't feel good about it. I miss them all and I'm still angry about it. And scared. And kind of glad Sam is beyond needing care that she wouldn't get. Lots of people are writing reviews of the year and of the decade, but for me there's been too much death in both periods. 2010 was when Barb died, and it just kept coming. I wrote a list - Sammie, obviously and my brother, Andrew, and Paula, Mike Bos, Stepfordtart, darling Stepfordtart, ffs. Sheila, who was very old, Mel who was not old enough. Nor were Sue or Martin or Kim. Dave took his own life, as did Em. Reenie and Pat died after long illnesses, as they say. Too many deaths. Out of those fourteen people only two made it to the biblical three score years and ten. Six had cancer. I'm writing about it in this statistical way to keep it over there not over here, but it's shit, isn't it? However I write about it, it's shit. I hope they're all OK. I hope they're looking after my Sammie. Maybe with that written down, tomorrow I'll be able to find some of the good things that have happened. M survived, that's one good thing, straight off. Today I am grateful for: my good, old body, still doing so much for me; Bloke putting some of the shelves up; yoga, beautiful, blessed yoga; lovely walk in the dusk - actually it wasn't that lovely, every fucker and their uncle was walking along the seafront, it was packed, but I talked myself round and walked briskly, making myself enjoy it, whether I wanted to or not; being part of the 2 minute beach clean tribe, hash tag proud. Night night xxx 12:55 a.m. - 30.12.19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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