Miss Forgetful

It is a well know fact that I lose things. Usually, the things I lose are items I have to carry in addition to a handbag. In my pre myeloma life, this absent mindedness was reserved for umbrellas, mobile phones and red hats. In My Myeloma world, the umbrella has been swapped with the Walking Stick.

I have been fortunate post August 2012 that every time I lost something, like a hat or a walking stick, I have been able to recover them from Sainsburys or by my front door, that was, until a cold day in December, when I finally, actually, most certainly and positively lost my Walking Stick. Fortunately, it was not The Walking Stick, it was my back up stick, but still, the pain of losing it still smarts, one month on.

The situation was this. I had travelled to the magical land of Wakefield, which is part of me being a grown up once more and building up my energy. A grown up I was, until I went to get my return train and as I walked on to the train, I realised I was missing something, something important. I glanced to my left, out the train window and as it pulled away from the station, I saw it, my walking stick resting against the bench where I was sitting. My head dropped in shame. Not only had I lost a stick, but I also lost £15 because I had to get a taxi home because I could not walk safely.

Upset, I was. Wounded, I was. Then, two weeks later, I lost a hat. Another hat. Balderdash. Sad times. Neither were handed in. I whined. Specifically, I whined at my mother.

For those of you who do not know, Mamma Jones can be a joker. As a child afraid of seafood, for example, Mamma Jones thought it would be funny to place prawn heads around the toilet seat to scare me. Scare me, she did. It wasn’t child abuse I assure you. With the same, clean, sense of humour, on Christmas Day, I received a large, oddly shaped present. I was intrigued, especially when I saw her smirk. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that inside this oddly shaped present, was a new NHS style walking stick, but, this time, with a return address and the words ‘help, I keep losing my stick’. How I guffawed. Guffaw, guffaw, guffaw. Mamma Jones. Funny lady.

The next step is to sew my name into all my belongings. It’s a necessity.

This disease I have is so unfortunate. Not myeloma, the other disease. The losing stuff disease. One day I might enjoy a more attractive walking stick, but, the cold hard truth is that, I, Emma Jane Jones, just cannot be trusted.