Learning to relax

24th November

My wife Michelle is one of life’s great givers and doers. Always thinking of, and doing things for others, with never a spare minute to think of herself. One of the major side-effects of her busy mind and generous spirit is that she is also the worst ‘relaxer,’ -if there is such a word, I know.

The first time I have really laughed since my diagnosis was following a visit to ‘The Lodge’. This was a branch of the hospital for cancer sufferers and their carers or families to receive practical, emotional or psychological support. A great service for those in need.
We thought we’d go along and see what was on offer and booked an appointment to coincide with another of the clinical variety; To kill two birds, so to speak.
We were led into a new building opposite the main hospital, given a car permit to shove in the windscreen and offered a cup of tea or coffee the second we crossed the threshold. I had a tea, having rushed to walk the dogs prior to this appointment, but Michelle declined.

We were promptly shown into another ‘consultation room,’ adjusted the chairs to our satisfaction and waited for someone to fill the empty seat.
I was pleasantly surprised, as we were joined by Jo. I could see her badge said ‘manager’ of some description, but we were both too polite to ask her full title and qualifications as she introduced the Lodge, and its facilities.
She seemed nice and we smiled back. We got off to a good start and I even raised a laugh. Great, I thought. No clap-trap psychology here, just three human beings chewing the cud in the most natural way possible.

The Police service is positively full of the finest clap-trap and mumbo-jumbo you will ever hear.
From senior management meetings to aspiring young thrusters, there is a kind of political and nonsensical language that one adopts to befuddle and obfuscate even the keenest listener.
‘The Emperor’s New Clothes,’ I call it.
I prefer simple, honest messages that don’t try to flatter the sender, but seek only to allow understanding. I call a spade, a spade.
Michelle, a former Army Sergeant, Police detective and now homeless housing officer is similar in outlook to me. Neither of us has a leaning towards an alternative lifestyle, and both of us can sniff out hogwash and poppycock when we hear it.

“What sort of help do you think you need?” said Jo.
We pondered on this question together. After a pause and exchange of questioning glances, I said that we simply wanted to adjust to our new normality, and wanted to be able to relax. Something alien to us for the past two months.

Unlike Michelle, I was a champion ‘relaxer.’ I could come in from work, put my feet up and drift into my own world, to the exclusion of all noise and distraction. This did- and still does, drive Michelle to distraction. Her whirring mind and restless body, unable to comprehend my serenity among the chaos of everyday life. My inability to listen and communicate, when in this self-induced state of meditation, is also a frustration- especially when I answer questions at the same time.
“Did you remember to ring your Mum?”
“Yes,” I would say.
“What did she say?”
“Wait. What was the first thing you asked again?”- admitting my failure to listen.
“I knew you weren’t listening.”
I felt like the child at the back of the class, when his name is called and has no idea what the question was.

Jo now addressed Michelle; “how do you like to relax?”
“Oooohhh I don’t know really,” she said, after what seemed like an age.

“You like a nice glass of wine in the evening!” I offered.

Jo ran through some options. Massage? Reiki?
I had mentioned a massage prior to our meeting. Michelle didn’t even like that. “The last one didn’t feel nice and the Turkish man had horrible feet,” she said.

“What’s Reiki?” I said.
Jo explained it was something about moving energy. To my surprise, Michelle interrupted;
“I’ve heard that’s really good”.
“Ok we’ll take one of those please,” I said-pleased we were getting somewhere.

Unfortunately the girl who does it is on holiday in Australia and neither massage or Reiki is available until January; when I start my Chemotherapy.
Jo has a brainwave, leaves the room and comes back with two ‘relaxation’ CDs.

“Don’t listen to the first two tracks as they’re about something else,” she said as she handed them over.
Then, the piece de resistance; Jo indicated some smooth stones in a wicker basket on the table.
“You can have one each if you like.” She picked one up and ran her thumb and forefinger over the smooth surface. “You feel the smoothness of the stone in your hands, and feel present in that moment- would you like one?”
Our joint antennae were as a terriers ears at the accidental rattle of the dog lead. In my mind, klaxons sounded and the U-boat Captain yelled ‘Dive-dive,’ under fire from a British destroyer.

“That’s Ok,” I said quick as a flash. “We collected some nice stones at the beach the other day.”
We hastily bade our goodbyes, returned the car permit and sped home.

Michelle struggled to live in the ‘present moment.’ Often at tea time, whilst I shoved in the first mouthful of Spaghetti Bolognese, she would say; “Shall I make cauliflower cheese tomorrow?”
My mouth full, I raise my hand in protest. The mixture of cheesy creaminess and the tomato-red bolognese sauce, too much to bear.

We laughed at and with each other, recounting our conversation at ‘the Lodge,’ all the way home.
At Michelle’s inability to relax and our institutionalised scepticism.
“Have we even got anything to play a CD with?” I said.

In bed that night, I told Michelle to lie down, get comfy and relax.
“breathe in for four seconds, then breathe out slowly for eight,” I said.
She snorted like a horse accepting a mint, curled her lip and opened one eye.

“You’re not taking it seriously. Can’t you even breathe in and out?” I said; my irritation rising.
“I ammmm,” she protested, with that mischievous look of hers.

After several more tries I gave up. I was never going to get to sleep now.

A search of ‘relaxation and sleep’ on the tablet, located a video with background sounds. A cheap Hammond organ by the sound of it. The Aussie male voice was quite soft and soothing, I’ll admit.
I shoved the tablet behind the pillow and turned over.
I turned over again to adjust the volume; the deep breaths and relaxed expression told me she was fast asleep.