Hospital
I know I'm generally a fairly upbeat person (except during moments of hormonal upheaval, obviously) so I'm putting the rest of this post under a cut for anyone who doesn't want to see me being low. :)
My piano teacher is in hospital. She had inexplicable bouts of nausea during the summer, and now has inexplicable and unbearable pains in her stomach -- unbearable to the point where she hasn't been able to eat anything for over a week. The hospital people have prodded her and poked her and subjected her to many undignified tests -- without apparently getting any closer to a diagnosis. She's in her mid-seventies, and I suspect that she's worried that she has cancer. (She did have cancer previously, you see -- part of her colon was removed twelve years ago.) She won't say this, of course. She's as stoic as most people of her generation.
I went to visit her today. I wanted to reassure her (how egotistical is this?) that I'm going to be fine for my Diploma next Tuesday. Anyway, when I got there all thoughts of talking about my diploma just flew out of my head: she was curled up asleep and, for the first time in all the twenty-two years that I've known her, I suddenly saw her as a person all on her own and not just in relation to me. I mean -- she stopped being my teacher and became someone that I really do love. Funny how this kind of thing just creeps up on you, isn't it?
While I was there Mr and Mrs C turned up (a couple I know from one of the churches I play at in my Sunday rota -- they're both in their seventies too). Mr C had just been discharged after a fairly traumatic week in hospital: after almost a decade of infrequently recurring cancer, he now has two tumours in his lungs and three in his brain, as well as a corneal problem that's left him practically blind. He was finding it hard to walk, due to the brain tumours. And the radiotherapy for his lung tumours has permanently hoarsened his voice (particularly horrible for him because he's always been a fine singer, performing in choirs and also doing solos on special occasions). But they didn't go on about it; they were all concern for my teacher, asking her how she was, etc. Mr C made light of his illness and treatment. And my teacher made light of her pain.
And I sat there, basically completely healthy, not knowing what to say.
I'm wasting my life. Please don't tell me that I'm not. I know I am. :)
My piano teacher is in hospital. She had inexplicable bouts of nausea during the summer, and now has inexplicable and unbearable pains in her stomach -- unbearable to the point where she hasn't been able to eat anything for over a week. The hospital people have prodded her and poked her and subjected her to many undignified tests -- without apparently getting any closer to a diagnosis. She's in her mid-seventies, and I suspect that she's worried that she has cancer. (She did have cancer previously, you see -- part of her colon was removed twelve years ago.) She won't say this, of course. She's as stoic as most people of her generation.
I went to visit her today. I wanted to reassure her (how egotistical is this?) that I'm going to be fine for my Diploma next Tuesday. Anyway, when I got there all thoughts of talking about my diploma just flew out of my head: she was curled up asleep and, for the first time in all the twenty-two years that I've known her, I suddenly saw her as a person all on her own and not just in relation to me. I mean -- she stopped being my teacher and became someone that I really do love. Funny how this kind of thing just creeps up on you, isn't it?
While I was there Mr and Mrs C turned up (a couple I know from one of the churches I play at in my Sunday rota -- they're both in their seventies too). Mr C had just been discharged after a fairly traumatic week in hospital: after almost a decade of infrequently recurring cancer, he now has two tumours in his lungs and three in his brain, as well as a corneal problem that's left him practically blind. He was finding it hard to walk, due to the brain tumours. And the radiotherapy for his lung tumours has permanently hoarsened his voice (particularly horrible for him because he's always been a fine singer, performing in choirs and also doing solos on special occasions). But they didn't go on about it; they were all concern for my teacher, asking her how she was, etc. Mr C made light of his illness and treatment. And my teacher made light of her pain.
And I sat there, basically completely healthy, not knowing what to say.
I'm wasting my life. Please don't tell me that I'm not. I know I am. :)