2006-10-18
In many regards Jo’s life is settling down. That does not mean, of course, that it is, overall, improving – just that some of the uncertainty has been removed.First the good things. I don’t know whether I mentioned that she and Dave took a decision to move house a couple of months back (back from now I mean, but the phrase could also be taken as ‘a couple of months after they were back from America’). Part of the reasoning was that they wanted to move into the catchment area for a better school than the one they would have to send Alex to when he’s five, and with that in mind Jo started looking out for houses for sale in one particular area – a more expensive area. I don’t intend to sound snobbish (but even in saying that I have to concede that this will..) but I always thought their current house was rather typical of Dave - bigger and more ostentatious than the neighbourhood allowed for, which means they got it much cheaper than they would in another district. Which was really just to show his parents he’d ‘made it’. The result was to be expected – when they started to try to sell it they found that while there were people wanting a house of that size and shape no-one wanted it down that street. People could be seen driving past slowly having a look from the outside, but not coming in.
But that didn’t put them off: they went ahead and made an offer for the house they wanted which was accepted and they agreed a date when they’d pay up. But as time went on it became increasingly likely that they wouldn’t get a buyer for the current house. Causing Jo more stress…Just as they were on the brink of withdrawing from the purchase, things got worse. A neighbour with a similar house started to sell at 10% less than they were asking. But strangely that seemed to have the desired effect - a couple similar to them came and looked at both houses, decided they liked Jo’s better because of the way she’d improved it and because they had already sold their house and needed to get somewhere quick made an offer (still well below what they believed it was worth).
So it turned out OK and she’ll be moving house in a couple of weeks.
But.
On Friday she went to the immunology specialist to find out what can be done about her condition: the answer appears to be that there is no cure for what seems to be a genetic disorder. What they proposed was that she undergoes a three hour plasma transfusion.
Every three weeks.
For the rest of her life.
Which is one hell of a daunting prospect. She is not convinced it’s worth bothering with as it’s not actually a solution, just a way of keeping her more able to fight off infections than she is at the moment.
‘Look after me?’ she said as I gave her a comforting (?) hug. She seemed ready to sob into my shoulder. I promised I will, but it was the promise between people who know it can’t be realised.
She talked about how the resolved house situation makes her feel both happy and apprehensive and added: ‘All I need now is a stable relationship to go with it’
I said I thought things between her and Dave have been better since they were in America, or since little Oliver arrived, reminder her that she said they felt more connected though having the children to share. ‘I always thought that we’re like two people who have some common interests, who share a house and a bed, and most of the time we get on. But it’s always been based on us both being independent, or at least able not to be a burden on the other one. I think Dave feels like I’m becoming too much of a dependant now, wanting to work only four days, not contribute so much money, and then there’s the fear that I’ll get really ill and he’ll have to look after me…’
I heard myself saying ‘in sickness and in health..’ (without the irony that should have been obvious if I’d continued on to the next few words). ‘I don’t know what he’d do, he doesn’t like dealing with my illness’
The one thing I really reproach myself with about her is that I didn’t do enough to make her get medical treatment when she so clearly needed it. And finally she collapsed with pneumonia. But I wasn’t married to her. I wasn’t sleeping next to her as she coughed her insides out, through the night.
But it’s no good saying to myself that I would have treated her better. Because let’s face it, I didn’t.