Half Life – 48 – Nanki-Poo
October 1st, 2021
The additional beneficiary of over-optimistic ticket buying was a Japan-loving twelve-year-old friend of Younger Boy. He got to watch Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum dance, cavort, and sing together with the Mikado and the Lord High Executioner in a pantomime of silliness with very little real connection to Japan. They all loved it as it lived up to everything hoped for, and more. Older Boy, the only one in the family who can sing in a way that doesn’t empty rooms, hummed the tunes and The Wife came home beaming. Instant pot ramen at the interval, together with a few random Pokémon thrown in, might have been the only additions needed to make the evening any better.
It took several weeks after excitedly getting hold of tickets for a live theatre show before it started to dawn that my using the fourth ticket would be impossible. Through over-estimating my capabilities and keeping up an unrealistic level of denial regarding the number of things Nobby’s ride-hitching on my existence stops me doing, the buying was jumped at without thinking. Sitting for that long in a theatre chair, late at night, after a drive, and with a drive home needed, was simply going to be impossible from a pain and tiredness perspective. Exhaustion takes over by about seven in the evening, with a deep desire to be in bed by nine now normal. The bullet was bitten but, even though an evening with JJ the dog took the place of a night out at the theatre, the happiness handing on the ticket gave me far exceeded what I would have gained from going.
A weekend trip to the pub, followed by a wine stimulated dinner, in honour of a dear friend who had come all the way from Devon, transformed itself into session re-living our previous lives, if only for a while. Casting ourselves back to the years before wives and children, the memories flooded in and the comfortable smiles our reminiscing generated in an old and best friend made it more than worth it. Stories about us at pubs and parties, or about girls we had known or wanted to know, kept coming, allowing The Boys to gather ancient gossip about their father, no doubt to be weaponised in future discussions about their activities and behaviours. The consequences of the beer, wines, and sweet dessert sherry started arriving on Sunday morning, but the pain was worth every moment of relaxation and joy the drunken journey through our shared past gave both of us.
There is something special about being happy for and with someone else. Not being able to do things yourself increases that sensation, as well as a desire to give others experiences you can no longer have. It changes what makes you happy and content. Reading and hearing about life, school, sports, and job successes others are having brings its own experience. Whether it’s the new school which has turned out to be the right choice for a friend’s child, or photos of kids in a karate dojo I can’t attend, each one brings its own smile at the good fortune of others. Connection to what used to be the world of work shifted with the cancer to exploring LinkedIn, Facebook, and newspapers to see how people and organisations I was involved in have continued to grow and thrive. Some I was part of, others just had me cheering from the side. Watching old friends, university partners, and former colleagues launch companies, publish books, or being headline speakers at conferences, generates an enjoyment at seeing what they are doing - made all the greater because I can no longer do what I used to. Celebrating the success and happiness of others has always been a something The Wife and I have encouraged The Boys to do; now my own limitations have given me that same gift and a realisation how precious it can be.
The on-going denial that I can’t do many of things I used to, leading to occasional fool-hardy impulse ticket purchasing, is driven by the need to never be one of those who sits in a chair dribbling down their front in a drug-muddled haze. The option is always there, and too much time spent in hospitals introduces you to those who have taken that route. Bone pain, in particular, generates considerable sympathy with that choice. The extraordinary pain removal delivered by morphine comes joined to a gradual brain numbing and demands balance. Take too much and the brain is switched off and awareness melts away. The price of detachment is too high, and risks being removed from everything and losing the joys which come from being a supporter, even if you can’t participate. Residual pain is worth it. Life, in all its crazy confusions, carries on and seeing it whizzing around removes any desire to obliterate being part of it by going swimming in sea of morphine. There is too much to celebrate, so I will keep buying those tickets and finding people who can enjoy them as well as cheering on every new adventure others start out on and the success they achieve.
You are so right, it’s very important to have things in the diary other than hospital appointments! It sounds like you are further ahead on the journey than I am. Back in the spring I impulsively bought theatre tickets for The Rocky Horror Show and also Hairspray and actually got to them both recently - I found going to a matinee much more manageable than an evening show.
After so many months surviving at home it was very emotional to be in an audience with the sole purpose of enjoyment!
Do keep on writing Charles, you are an inspiration!
Beautifully written Charlie