It is Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve happens to be one of the best days of the year, if like me, you happen to love Christmas. I am Kevin McCallister, such is my love of Christmas, it’s traditions and the pure wonder that can be a nicely decorated Christmas tree. This Christmas, more than the last two I have with the disease they call myeloma, I have planned and longed for a ‘normal’ Christmas. By ‘normal’ I mean ‘special’. I had meticulously planned something so much better than the 12 Days of Christmas, so that I could enjoy every single moment of Christmas commercialism. I wanted to gorge on Bing Crosby and Jimmy Stewart until the leftover meat fertilises next year’s tomatoes.
By today, according to my plan, all I should be doing is some elective baking, some constant film watching and some smiling. That is not what I will be doing today. Instead, I have all my presents to wrap, one present to buy and copious amounts of rest to fit in where and wherever I can find it. The need for rest is making me act like Scrooge at the beginning of the Muppet’s Christmas Carol. I do not have the time for it, and all it does is remind me what I was supposed to do.
The reason for my childish want of a normal Christmas will become more apparent as 2015 progresses.
I should have known that my plans would have gone wrong. I should have known that instead of coming back to my parents’ house early to enjoy my nieces’ festive excitement, I would be coming home to my parents’ house to get into bed, via A&E with some antibiotics. I have been a good girl this year; I did not need coal. I have been unwell every Christmas since my diagnosis, so I suppose I am just carrying on with the new tradition.
Now, I would be the first person to put my hands up in the air and wave them around to confirm that I have been displaying the sort of behaviour that shows that I care very much about Christmas and the more I care, the more option I give the myeloma to deviate from it.
Over the last few weeks I have been slowly tying myself in emotional knots in festive anticipation. I have a wonderful example of this. Much to his dismay, and my own surprise, Housemate recently incurred my mighty festive wrath after showed some initiative by taking the Christmas tree out of it’s box and put some fairy lights on it whilst I was out galavanting at 16:00hrs one afternoon. My initial reaction and then the one 24 hours after the deed was done, were ones that some, if they were being polite, could describe as ‘an overreaction’. As I concluded the following day, there is a lot of emotion connected to that Christmas tree. I do not want to be morbid, so I shall not type why it upset me, but if you add a failed bone marrow transplant to future Christmases, you’ll get somewhere near my reasons for wanting a saccharine Christmas.
I do tell myself that I have to be stronger and that I should not complain about my situation. Indeed, I do not want to complain about my situation. Myeloma and Christmas just do not go together and I know that despite what will follow in this blog, there are other families who will feel more pain than I this Christmas. To them, I apologise for my self indulgence…
That said, as it is Christmas Eve, I want to find the festive cheer that left my loins five days ago. In the lead up to Christmas I dragged myself North, South, East and West in order to fully embrace, as fully as my body would allow, the festive good times. There was a voice in the back of my head as I typed the last sentence telling me that I just lied to you. I should have added that as much as I wanted to do everything I did in the lead up, I knew that doing it all would be bad for my body especially when my hospital added five appointments last week. The bespectacled voice also says I probably should have shown more strength and stayed in when I needed to and I should have worried a little bit less about letting people down and had the confidence to think my friends would understand that me needing to stay in and lie on my sofa is not a reflection of my love for them, but is in actual fact, much needed medicine that would have got me to Christmas Day without a temperature of 38.6.
Alas, whilst I will still make it to Christmas Day, I will not make it in the way in which I had planned. I will not have the time to watch the films I wanted to watch nor will I bake the things there are a not enough people in the family to eat. I might not be able to rubber stamp my own wrapping paper for Ebenezer’s sake.
This illness crept up on me at my cousin’s fabulous wedding at the weekend. Not particularly unwell with anything drastic, but I had a fever, a cough and the things that usual accompany fevers and coughs. An annoyance if one is healthy, something a bit more if you are receiving treatment for myeloma. I do not have the resilience to battle it. True to form, to A&E I went on Monday for four whole hours for IV antibiotics. The general public out there with their bugs do not have to do that. They might complain like I am right now though.
Anyway, Mamma Jones says I have to try and get out of bed now. I just watched Die Hard 2: Die Harder. I only added that so you know that I am trying to find some good in a bad situation. I just wish, given the importance of this Christmas, I could do it without factoring myeloma into every single task.
If George Bailey has taught me anything it is that one should be thankful for what they have, so that is what I am going to try to do today and with that in mind, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas.