And While I'm On The Subject…

…Of friends who are going through family difficulties, a very old, very dear school friend of mine (one of the four girls whose friendship quite literally enabled me to survive boarding school from the age of seven) has an eight year old daughter who needs a new kidney. They find out this week if she will make it onto the transplant list… and then, of course, after clearing that particular hurdle, they will have a whole series of further obstacles to negotiate in order for their little girl to have a normal, healthy life.

And, at the other end of the age scale, another dear friend’s father is very sick and she has had to rush back to the UK to be with him and her Mum. So I’m also hoping the kind of amorphous hopes one has in such circumstances – that everything is okay, or, at least, as okay as it can be.

All of which makes me realise how remarkably free from such responsibility and anxiety I am. I don’t have a child. My parents are not yet so far gone as to be either physically enfeebled or mentally senile (well, no more than usual…) and my own health is, thankfully, good.

I am extremely lucky.

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15 Responses to And While I'm On The Subject…

  1. doctordi says:

    Wow, both super stressful scenarios. I hope all is okay. And yes, it never does any harm being reminded of how fortunate one is. Cheers to that.

  2. My goodness, I’ll send all of them good and healing thoughts as well.

  3. I am in the same fortunate-zone, and it is really humbling. It also makes me feel like kind of an emotional wimp, because the things I see people around me dealing with every day … I don’t think I could handle them without breaking down. The daily heroism of people … it’s astonishing.

    • Norwichrocks says:

      Humble and wimpy here, too.

      I worked at a children’s hospice for 2 years and had daily reminders of just how much human beings can handle when there is no alternative. But yes, it is truly remarkable how many people seem to find their best selves in such awful circumstances.

  4. It was very good for me to read about all this, seeing has how I have been going through a “down” place for a while. I have to admit that my troubles seem very small in comparison.

    My parents are now reaching the place in their lives when I feel very blessed that they are still doing as well as they are physically. Both are in their 80s, and still quite active. But I know that that could change, and change quickly. It is one of the realities of life that if things go as they should, which means the children grow up and become adults, then those children are going to witness the death of their parents. We don’t live forever, no matter now much the medical profession thinks they can make that happen. We would be better served by acknowledging this truth and planning for it, rather than ignoring it and then being shocked when the inevitable happens.

    • Norwichrocks says:

      I’m so glad this post helped you, hmh. For the last few weeks, every time I start to feel sorry for myself because I’m missing the man I thought was ‘The One’, I remember how much larger are the troubles of many of my friends. It puts my selfish spiral nicely back into perspective.

      And I’m 100% with you on the sanity of acknowledging the inevitability of the eventual death of one’s parents. I think its the long term care of sick and invalid parents that is the really terrifying prospect, both emotionally and financially.

      Long may yours continue to be active and healthy. 🙂

  5. fugitivepeaces says:

    Dear love, my Dad is doing a little better. My Mum is a lionheart. And honestly, there is no heroism required, only a kind of conscious daily endurance and trying to sidestep the sinkholes of fear. People are wonderful, including all of your commenters. This will come to all of us; there is no love without the shadow of loss, but it’s worth it for the love.
    In other news, I’m proud to report that I didn’t hit my stepbrother, not once, not with my hands tingling with the urge for four whole days, not even when he interspersed the “me, me, me” with repeatedly criticising my driving to the hospital/town/airport. Turns out I’m a lot less noble than I’d hoped, but less selfish than I’d feared…
    Fingers crossed for your dear friend, and her daughter. May it all come good for them, and fast. Hope the Canyoner, Mrs Canyoner and Canyonette are healing too. Love to you and everyone.
    PS Frack me, it’s cold.

    • Norwichrocks says:

      Darling girl, I am so glad to hear that your Dad is improving, and that you and your Mum are such troopers. [A brilliant idea has just occurred to me, involving proper trooper uniforms being provided by Piereth’s Best Beloved…]

      You will certainly deserve a medal for not sticking a fork into your stepbrother. I shall have one struck immediately, with the motto ‘Noblesse Oblige’.

      And gawd love you for having the emotional capacity and compassion to send such kind thoughts to Tabitha’s daughter who needs a kidney (oddly enough, you share the same first name) and to Gabby, Tim and little April.

      Thinking of you xxx

      • fugitivepeaces says:

        Better is a very relative term. But he looked over at the most shapely nurse on the ward yesterday, and said thoughtfully: “I do like the…um…uniform here. Very smart.” He was bloody twinkling, the old devil. I almost fell over laughing.
        Also, Piereth and I had the most fantastic bitchfest/catch-up on the phone this week. Good to know that all this nobility hasn’t diminished my arm-waving, red-wine-quaffing gab-capacity 😉
        Now I’m having fun plotting what books to spring on you for Christmas…
        xx

      • Norwichrocks says:

        Good on him!

        And on you and piereth. Sometimes a bitch-fest is the *only* answer.

  6. doctordi says:

    Oh, Fugitive, I was worried that the friend might have been you, and that your father was the one taken ill – I’m very sorry to learn it is your lot, but so buoyed to know he’s doing better. TAKE CARE and may all be well. xx

  7. azahar says:

    Of course the problem with other people’s misfortunes making you feel lucky is that it can flip on you. Best not to compare and just always feel lucky… because you are.

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