One order of catastrophe please. (with a side of waffle.)
Today is my birthday and I am ‘catastrophising.’
It is of little surprise to me that below that word, I now have a red squiggly line.
I hate red squiggly lines with a passion.
If I was queen of the world, if only for a moment, I would take that red squiggly line and shove it up the current king of the worlds bum. (Because are you with me on this? Only a man would come up with a line as annoying as that. If it had been a woman in charge of squiggly lines on that day, somewhere back in history, it would never have been a squiggly line screaming at you that you cant spell but maybe a little pink flower, gently caressing your word of choice, advising you, that you MAY have spelled something incorrectly, but actually if your opinion is that you should have spelt it that way then that is ok, because you are the human and it is just a machine. And women are never wrong.)
Anyway. Back to the point. (Now I have a green squiggly line.)
Today is my birthday and I am catastrophising. (Red squiggly line, no spelling suggestions. SHUT UP then!)
I am also back in Starbucks and am about to order a waffle.
It’s my birthday and I can waffle if I want to.
Do you know what that means?
I am sure you’ve done it. We all do it.
It is my new word, I learnt it while I was in the loony bin.
It just rolls off your tongue doesn’t it?
Last week my dad had a stroke.
At least, the Spanish doctors said he had a stroke, at first.
I got on a plane like shit flying off a shovel and was by his side in a heartbeat, shaking and quivering, mopping his brow and professing my undying love, when they decided he probably hadn’t had a stroke but had a touch of vertigo.
I flew to be by his side because he has a middle ear infection?
‘Possiblimente,’ the hot Spanish doctor in his hot Spanish scrubs smiled kindly at me ‘isn’t that a reliefo?’
Can I just clarify at this point I call him the hot Spanish doctor because it was 31 degrees and the hospital has minimum air con, honestly Irish one. Honestly. He was actually minging. Minging like that grey haired doctor off Greys Anatomy minging, what do they call him again? McDisgusting? Ahem…
Dressed in jeans made for navigating snow and sweat wet ugg boots definitely not made for a cramped hospital room in the middle of the Spanish outback, I had not smiled back.
I had done the done thing, I had done what any unstable mother and daughter team all rolled in to one body would have done at this time.
I clung to my dad’s hand and sobbed while both he and the hot doctor looked on incredulous.
‘I told you they were wrong, I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come’ he whispered hoarsely from beneath the many duvets I had piled upon the bed in an attempt to keep him away from the cold clutches of El Grimo Reaper ‘Lex, can you please untuck these covers, I am literally melting.’
‘NO DAD!’ I had bellowed while eyeballing McDreamy McDisgusting ‘STAY PUT!’
He had rolled his eyes and continued his fight to be freed from the sheets I had tucked in so tightly, he could have potentially developed early onset rigamortis.
I continued to sob dramatically.
Because, even though, heat allowing, my dad had perked up considerably and was now swearing and picking at the stitching of the make shift death bed I had erected, I thought the good doctor was wrong.
‘NO ES MIDDLE EAR INFECTINIO!’ I had garbled. ‘ES ALGO MAS.’
In my mind, you see, the mind I own, that has become radically adept at catastrophising, my dad was on his death bed. In my mind I was bringing him home in a body bag, in my mind my world had collapsed on me and I didn’t know how to go on.
How would I go on in life without my dad? How would I live in a world that didn’t have my dad in it? He is my best friend. He can’t die. I wont allow it! (I may have stamped my foot during the many panic driven hyperventilating fits I had suffered in the lead up to spain and beyond.) I couldn’t allow it.
Turns out he had vertigo.
He is coming over here, on my request, for further tests some time soon, and he does need other stuff doing, but thats all manageable.
I do hope they are right. I am just not sure I can believe it.
He is too important to me, for it to be that simple.
Do you see what I mean?
Today is my birthday and I am catastrophising.
Not only about my dad, (told you i was on one) But on Thursday I am returning to work.
I am not ready by any stretch of the imagination, but if I want to keep Addison in the style he has become accustomed to, (Thomas the tank engine pasta shapes, a toy car given on the precipice of every meltdown and new clothes and funky titbits every time we ‘go for a coffee’ to keep him quiet – parenting at its best ladies and gentlemen) then really I am left with no choice.
I must shoe horn myself in to the long ago retired suit (and new heels) and return to the orifice of doom.
I am scared.
I am scared of going backwards, I am scared of moving forwards, I am scared of saying hello, I am scared of people asking me where I have been and how I am, I am scared of telling the truth, I am scared of being caught in a lie. I am frightened of not being able to look people in the eye, a trait that post natal depression robbed me of, I am worried I will be incompetent, I am worried I will not care, I am worried my new team will hate me, I am worried my son will miss me, I am worried I may cry all day, every day.
I am frightened of being hurt.
I am an open book, and I don’t want to be scribbled all over carelessly, but how can I expect anything less?
Today is my birthday and I am catastrophising like a demon.
Some days I just cant help it.
Even though, time has shown that usually the catastrophe is just nothing like i expect it to be as life just tends to happen…
Work dad work dad work dad work dad work dad life work dad.. ooooo special birthday catastrophe waffle!
But what if i eat this, and then my pants don’t fit, and then everyone at work laughs, then I sneeze, and wee and everybody stops laughing and they notice the puddle and then i slip and then…
Today is my birthday and ill catasrophise if i want to.
DAMN THAT RED SQUIGGLY LINE!!!