"Wake Me Up, When September Ends."

This is the story of how, last Friday at approximately 5.10pm, I tore somebody a new arsehole.


*Ahem*


I live in a small community. Five days before my baby was born, my husband gets diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. I KNOW that is big news. I KNOW it stopped people in their tracks. I'm only just now starting to come to terms with it all myself. The trauma was fucking despicable. For those last pregnant five days, I felt OBSCENE. I wanted to hide. The news of Mr TC was starting to trickle out, and people would eye my big bulging belly, with the most horrible look on their faces. It felt like pity .... I HATE being pitied. I am nobodys victim. From the beginning, I have fielded all the questions that people would never ask Mr TC to his face. He can't believe how accosted I can get just out buying a carton of milk. It started to piss me off immediately, and I would put on a bright smile and say he was doing ok. The most annoying question, which I got a LOT, and still do ..... "Is he going to be ok?"

Ummm, let me just consult the magic crystal ball I have handy in my pocket. Let's see ...... oh, would you look at that. No. No he's NOT going to be ok. Thanks for asking!

I feel like I am already pitied in my life anyway. At parties, especially big family functions ... the fact that I don't drink is so incredulous to some people. People cock their heads to one side, and say .."Ummmmmm .... lemonade?" One of my aunties actually turned to my sister, during the bridal waltz at my wedding, and said. "Oh, so she can never drink again?" Like it was some sorrowful thing. Fuck - I am more free than most people I know. I have a peace in my life that that particular auntie can only dream of.

Anyway, so the Topcat family got dealt a most serious and heavy blow, back in May. Some people were respectful, gave me space, and didn't grill me like a fucking cheese sandwich. I had to go to a concert at Tigers school, when Monkey was 12 days old. I had him in the sling, my c-section scar was killing me, but I had to go. Because Tiger needed at least one fucking parent functioning. One husband there ended up chasing me out of the school after the concert, so insistent. How's Mr TC? What kind of cancer? Will he be ok? I told him I had to go. I am so rude to him now, whenever I see him. SO rude. How would he like, if HE was sick and some fuckwit chased his wife out of school?

That's what a lot of people seem to be missing ... empathy. And tact. And appropriateness. One woman I know saw me driving around the car park, and motioned for me to wind down my window. I did. She's like, "OH MY GOOOOOD I HEARD ABOUT MR TC! IS HE GOING TO BE OOOOOKKKKKK????" I had Tiger in the car with me. Do people think that he has no ears? How does he feel, when the clueless masses have their inappropriate outpourings in front of him? I asked him.

"Oh, I don't care mum. I know dad's going to be ok. They are just silly."

I have been open with Tiger from the start. Daddy has yucky lumps in his tummy, and needs yucky chemo to kill all the lumps. He asked me where the lumps came from, I said I didn't know. Then we were watching a show about a little girl with cancer (because cancer is EVERYWHERE, you know) ... and Tiger said: "Cancer. Is that what dad has?" And I said yes, in a very calm way. But inside, I was like "HOLY FUCK YOUR DAD HAS CANCER OH MY GOD THAT IS SO FREAKY."

It feels like people want to know "the latest gossip" when they ask me. In such a matter-of-fact way. They don't stop to think that just MAYBE, maybe just getting out of bed has been hard, let alone walking down the street with a small baby, fielding questions from idiots. I pretend I am on my phone a lot, once it actually rang when I was pretending, nearly burst my fucking ear drum.

Once I was in the grocery shop with Tiger and Monkey, I said hello to a woman that I vaguely know. She nodded back, and then, five minutes later, came RUNNING up to me. "Oh, it's YOU! I heard about Mr TC! Is he going to be ok?" I stood there, gobsmacked by her fucking rudeness, looked at Tiger, and said "Well, of course daddy is going to be ok, isn't he?" Then looked pointedly at her. She still didn't get it, and was asking me more questions. People have their own pre-conceived ideas about cancer, and base a lot of their reactions on their own experiences. I can totally understand it freaks people out ... but, I'm always left standing there, trying to convince them to be positive, that we really think there is every chance Mr TC will beat this. The look in their eyes tells me they are thinking the worst.

I am done.

Lately, I've felt really anxious when I am out in public, scouting around, seeing if anyone's about to pounce. Anxious as fuck. Not all people are like that, of course. NONE of you internets are like that. Part of me thinks, thank GOD I had to do IVF, because I started this blog and ended up getting cancer support. And love. And empathy. You have helped me to not hate the complete human race, forevermore. How I love you all. How I feel thrilled with every single fucking comment. Even if it's just about the funny box of pink nappies. I blog a lot, I blog to get it out. To pass the time. We are all doing time in Chez Topcat. We are merely existing between chemotherapy sessions. It is awful. You have helped me, which in turn has helped my family. It's people like yourselves, who I don't mind talking about Mr TC with at all. Some women at Tigers school are so awesome .... they never ask me about Mr TC. I'm the one who brings it up, which is a refreshing change. Two of them even bought me a massage voucher, which was so lovely. I've had it for months, and finally booked it for last Friday at 5pm. Dinner was made, I reminded Mr TC 10 zillion times that I needed him home by 4.30. The house was clean, Monkey was fed. Finally, I arrived at the masseuse's house. Her name is Sandi, and Mr TC built her and her husbands house. So we know them. They are nice people.

I walked up, and she was just finishing off someone else. So I waited outside, enjoying the spring air. The other lady left, and Sandi came out. With that slapped-arse face look I know so well ....

Sandi: "How's Mr TC?"

Me: "Oh, he's really good!" (He wasn't, he was really sick that day.)

Sandi: "Is he? How many more chemos?"

Me: "Umm, two."

Sandi: "Well, I have been looking non-hodgkins info on the internet."

(A personal favourite .... when people give me their expert opinion after their 5 minute googling session. SO thoughtful of them.)

Me: Silent, starting to think, shut up now please.

Sandi: Head cocked, in a very "Do you want some lemonade" way .. "So, what kind of tumours were they?"

Me: "Aggressive."

Sandi: Winces "Ohhhhh, dear."

Me: "Actually, the aggressive kind are more responsive to the chemo than the slow-growing."

Sandi: Talking very slowly, as if to a child. "Well, Topcat, not necessarily. Some aggressive ones can actually be exacerbated by chemotherapy."

(Yes, she really did say that and no, I can't believe it either.)

I start to walk backwards, and said "Sandi, I really don't want to talk about this anymore." I felt anxious and angry and upset. She ignores me, and keeps on talking.

Now, you know how I talk a lot about how I was treated so terribly when I was a kid, how I had no voice, and could never speak up for myself? Yeah. So, I do not have that problem as an adult. As Sandi found out.

I start crying, she come close to me, all with the pity. Puppy dog eyes, yes dear, I know it must be so hard, lucky you have me to tell you how bad your husbands prognosis REALLY is. She went to hug me, I pulled away, and with a very tight, strangled voice said ...

"For fucks sake. All I wanted was a fucking massage!"

She was shocked. Probably hasn't heard the f-bomb in ten years, she is so straight. She is a nice person, but unfortunately has taken top honour in the "What NOT to say to the spouse of someone with cancer" game that I play every single day.

"Seriously! I am SO SICK of questions like this! How the fuck am I supposed to know if he is going to be ok! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW SANDI. He might die! He might go into remission! Everywhere I fucking go, it's all people want to talk about and I am SO. Fucking. Sick of it!"

She started apologising.

"Look, I know you didn't mean to upset me, but I just don't want to talk about Mr TC! If you want to know how he is, YOU call him and ask him yourself! I came here to feel better, not bloody worse! I don't want to know what you fucking googled! I just want to get through this time with some bloody dignity and respect."

At that, she started saying how much better I would feel after a massage. I told her I was in no mood for a massage, I was all churned up, and just needed a big cry. She was so freaking condescending without realising it, and told me she can "work really well with people who wanted a big cry." Ummm - she made me cry! Dipshit alert! Like, she could work her magic on the poor upset wife. What a hero.

I said no, I don't want a massage anymore, I'll ring and re-book it. She felt bad, so I told her that it's ok, I was just having a bad day.

I got in my car and started driving off. She came running out, calling my name. I looked around, saw I hadn't forgot anything, and thought fuck you. I just reversed up her drive, tears falling, wheels spinning, ignoring the fuck out of her.

I drove off, and came home. Had a nice shower, and ended up taking Tiger to see Wall-E. It's my brothers favourite movie too.

She rang and left the world's most annoying message the next day. "Oh, Topcat. Whatever it is I said that offended you I apologise."

In that moment, I thought, I am NEVER getting a massage off you, you dumb idiot. Mr TC was all "Call her back hon! She'd feel so bad!" He went and got me the phone. I said "Mate! You are NOT the boss of me! How about how I feel! I am not calling her ... and I am NEVER getting a massage from her again!"

I will see her again, and I will explain to her - nicely, why her words affected me so. The most annoying thing is the fact that my back kills! I need a fucking massage!
______


Ok, during the time it took to write this post .... Mr TC came in with the mail. Stacie from Heeere Storkey Storkey posted me a t-shirt. But, not just ANY t-shirt. Can you believe what I just opened?





The timing of that is proof that God has a sense of humour. Thank you, Stacie. From the depths of my jaded little heart. I'm going to wear it .. A LOT. When people ask me dumb questions (and they will) I shall point to it. Oh yes. Yes I truly, really will. LOVE IT.

xoxoxoxoxo