I write this sitting next to my first wife as her life clock winds down during these final stages.
I’ve battled with myself whether I should throw this extra blog out or not as thought I was only gunna have to write one more. But tomorrow is two weeks into hospice life and by all your messages of love, I think we actually owe y’all an update.
Straight up, let’s try start on a positive; my first wife might be feeling a little bit shit right now but she wasn’t eaten by a shark like that poor cunt down Sydney the other day.
How devastating life can be when it’s taken so ruthlessly in an instant like that, yet still as natural a death as can be modelled by the Mother Nature approach. At least with our slow release version of a natural death, unlike ol’ mate down Sydney, we’ve had so much more time together since we found out we had a ‘use before’ date. To put it plainly, we’ve had time to say our goodbyes… fuck it.
I’ve already written about that heaps so it must sound repetitive but that’s because we’re continually appreciative of it. Maybe we have to be to even deal with this shit. I dunno, man.
Having said that, I’d like to think we’d also be appreciative should we have had to face an instant death because it would’ve been less painful in a way. Instant or a slow wind down? Our preferred option would be no fucking death at all.
It might sound like I’m harping on about this a bit and maybe so but when I think about it, it’s probably a coping mechanism to deal with the cards we’ve been dealt. On that note, if we got dealt these cards in the cowboy days I would’ve called the dealer a cheat and shot the cunt… woulda been in a saloon too, for sure. A real cool one.
So, to put our current situation into perspective, apart from those early hospital blogs when she was operated on, this is the only one Marjana hasn’t proof read before publishing. As far as first wives go, she really was a great lil’ proof reader though. I know if my words make her laugh when they’re mostly taking the piss out of her and our cunty cancer scene, then they’re at a suitable level for y’all commoners who aren’t my life choice.
Problem right now though is that she’s pretty fucked up and her proof reading days are history like that cheating cowboy I woulda shot.
Tell ya what though, she’s one tough little squirrel, man! There’s no way she should still be here today sucking out my tears like Dracular does blood and giving me writing material.
That toughness though is possibly even trumped by her niceness. The staff here at our hospice don’t know of these blogs but even they kinda get she’s special. But a nice special, not a spastic kinda special like me. Doctors and nurses come into our room and no matter how fucked up she is with pain or out of it from painkillers, so far she’s still managed to give them her smile with her angelic eyes and respond to the how are you question with a soft slurred ‘I’m good thanks,’ even though she is very far from good.
Here’s another positive (see we live in a good world, man), we’re now 20 days into February and I’m still waking up next to my little Kiwi rugby player huntress. Yeah, different beds and mine’s some funky chair bed thing but I’m also no longer her chef slave cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner every day.
Life ain’t particularly awesome right now but it’s ok, considering.
Also, not only does she hoard like a squirrel but she’s now eating and drinking like one. No, not like little nibbling bites or filling up her mouth with heaps of nuts ya clowns, I’m talking about the amount she eats. Surviving on few pieces of fruit, some ice cream and a little water, Powerade and chamomile tea. It’s nowhere near enough but when ya body’s in shut down mode it’s kinda hard to counter that.
My body seems to be very much not in shut down mode as I’m all for lookin’ after the world and shit and am pretty sure that food wastage is bad for the environment. So two feeds, three times a day, possibly also with a little contraband plonk and beer, is my way of helping the world counter global warming. You are very welcome.
No surprise here but apart from an initial attempt upon arrival, the ying to my yang hasn’t got out of bed since we arrived. That also puts things into perspective a bit.
Her right leg was getting all funky when we were still at home as had to drag it when walking. A couple days after arriving at hospice she lost use of it altogether and as of a few days ago has now also lost use of her right arm and hand. Now that’s what I call a little bit shit but taking that positive angle, she doesn’t seem to realise that she’s even lost use of it. Plus she’s right handed so I haven’t been clipped around the ears for a while.
I had her family and friends back in The Old Country send voice recordings of nice memories they shared together and it appears she even had a life before she met me. Go figure that aye. It’s so heart warming to see her smile as she too recalls those good memories when listening. It’s kinda like an olden days version of taking selfies but analog… in a digital sorta way.
Heaps of you, our cult followers are always checking up on me and that’s all cool and appreciated and shit but it’s not lost on me or our boys that Marjana is by far the greatest victim in this travesty. Yeah our lives, like yours, will change for sure but fuck man, nowhere near as much as hers. We’ve had some shit times (more good ones though) and we gunna be copping some more pretty soon too but for now, we’re doing alright.
These blogs are almost confessional in a way but wouldn’t be like that if I fluffed things over so… I gotta admit, sitting beside your dying wife’s bed witnessing life drain out of her by the breath, is an absolute cunt of a thing, man. It’s a little bit shit and I don’t like it very much but there is no place in the world I’d rather be right now.
I’d much prefer fun filled days together with cold beers, fine food and orgasms but when it’s ya most treasured human being, even struggling moments are appreciated. Like when the ol’ girl does her sneaky little look me in the eye melting smile trick. Life could be worse. Yeah man, of course it could be better but it could still be worse.
She’s so cute too aye. She’ll be crashed out big time and there’s a very light knock on the door from some room service sheila. It’s not enough to wake her up but her sleep lightens enough for her to respond ‘Come in,’ with a sweet slurred whisper.
Over these last couple weeks I’ve probably done a bit of soul searching with emotions running like clothes, food and junk in Dilan’s bedroom… all over the place. Heaps of emotions, including feelings of guilt ’cause here I am still enjoying some moments of pleasure when my greatest love can’t. I’m happy to call myself a dumb cunt but I’m also aware of the grieving process and know that’s all part of this gig, even though we aren’t quite at the finish line yet.
I even tried to make my brain think the person near death beside me is as healthy as she was before… oh hang on… yeah… nah, I think that was the plonk talking actually.
What wasn’t the plonk talking though and is still very much a cunt of a chore is having to get up off my chair bed thing to watch the first wife up close very intently to see if she’s still breathing. So far so good but it ain’t really heaps of fun.
I’ve been here with her pretty much 24/7 and the boys come every day with my ol’ lady. The first day they came was emotionally draining as fuck for ’em both. They sat with their ol’ lady taking in and trying to accept the reality as any 17 and 22-year-olds starting out in life would, could, hope to. They then lay down and fell into a deep motionless coma for couple hours and exactly the same happened the following day.
In case any of y’all are wondering, I have read and/or played every single message you’ve sent to my first wife, some more than once but rest assured she does get ’em. If you’re one of her chick mates and you get a reply from her phone saying you should root ya man more or cook him a feed or something, you probably should do it so you don’t go against ya mate’s wishes aye.
Our hospice holiday might not be quality time but it’s still time together even if we are running on fumes in an empty tank. She’s still got the ability to make me happy to aye. For example, she’s obviously drugged and confused as fuck from painkillers but when I helped the nurses give her a bed bath and she realised it was me holding her close enough to whisper, she gives me her purest smile and does Bella’s trick whenever my head gets close to hers, and starts kissing it. But not like Bella’s dog licking kisses. Nah, these are more like a woodpecker doing the woodpecker thing on a tree. A machine gun of kisses, almost.
Your quote of the day ain’t really a funny one but we like it.
First husband: I love you.
First wife: I love you.
Finally, I can honestly say that since we’ve been here in hospice our mutual friend has received the most compassionate gentle care in as happy an environment as potentially possible. She gets hand, feet and face massages and although they’re with my rough hands and not that of a hot beauty therapist sheila, surely, that’s gotta give us all a little peace of mind so on that note, peace out y’all.
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