Note to self.....

Note to self. Do not attempt to say goodbye to one relationship, start another and prepare for major surgery all at once.

So much has happened in the past week - since I wrote that last post - that I hardly know where to begin. But to cut a long story short, regular readers of this blog may have noticed that Mr B has been away for a long while, and during his absence, life has been extremely tough. Several weeks ago I met the lone sailor. Just over two weeks ago we had lunch. We'd only seen each other a few times when I realised that this had a chance of going somewhere, so I told Mr B.

Breakups are always so very hard, particularly when you really care about each other. But our parting was as amicable as is possible in the circumstances, and we hope to remain the true friends that we are, once the dust has settled.

So while I have been grappling with the raw grief associated with saying goodbye, I have also been dealing with the uncertain wonder that comes with getting to know the new man in my life. And, of course, preparing for hospital.

I’m always being told off for doing things too quickly, but recent events have broken all my previous records. Both of us are walking round, stunned and astonished. By last Saturday I felt so overwhelmed by everything I had a complete meltdown, so apologies to anyone who I may have upset by weeping and wailing by phone or email.

A few days on and I feel much better about life. Yes, my stress levels are pretty high, which is understandable, but they aren’t through the roof, as they were a few days ago, and while there is a huge amount of emotional stuff to process, at least the three major events sort of balance each other in a way, and stop me worrying about hospital too much. There’s so much to think about I can’t possibly do so - the only way is to take small chunks of each at a time.

But in all this, the Lone Sailor has been unfailing kind and patient. After all, he has to process this stuff as well. He is currently repairing my second puncture in two days, and preparing for my last appointment with the specialist tomorrow when we may know more (a terrifying prospect).

He is calm under pressure, though, and departed yesterday with two of my hospital leaflets, entitled “Your Hysterectomy” and “Pelvic Floor Exercises,” - both of which he threatened to read in the pub.

The other day, he asked, “Do you believe in fate?” I said I thought things happened for a reason, if that’s what he meant.

“I think I’ve come into your life to help you through this,” he said. “I’d like to do that, and let’s see where we go from there.”

I am stunned at such generosity. No one could possibly ask for better than that. So while life continues to be a roller coaster - as ever - just think: my convalescence couldn’t be coming at a better time. I can use it, not only to recover, but to process the massive changes in my life.

And for now, the lone sailor is not alone any more.