Chapter 7 - The Exeat Weekend

Churcher's College, my 'home' 1965-1970

The Exeat Weekend
I went to boarding school at the age of 10 and hated every minute of it. I never did get used to the loneliness and the lack of privacy, despite the camaraderie, of being cloistered together with a load of other smelly oiks. I felt abandoned by my parents – although I knew they had sound enough reasons for sending me there.

The exeat weekend was a highlight: every 3-5 weeks we were allowed home from Saturday after morning school until Sunday early evening. It was always a bitter sweet experience because the elation and expectation of being released on Saturday gradually turned to trepidation towards the Sunday evening when it was time to go back again. I have never forgotten that dreaded moment when it was time to get in the car and go back.

All those memories of the 60s came flooding back this weekend as I was allowed home after chemo on Saturday morning until early Sunday evening. But the sweet part was, in hindsight, much sweeter than the bitter part of having to come back to my hospital bed. It was a brief respite, an oasis in a desert, a tonic that was every bit as powerful as some of the drugs I have been pumped with. True, I spent most of Saturday afternoon and early evening fighting (unsuccessfully) nausea but after that, things improved and some sense of normality coursed my veins instead of drugs.

I once more experienced the joy of Rosie jumping over me, so excited that her tail nearly wagged itself loose, with the obligatory cushion stuffed in her mouth as peace offering-cum-dummy. I lounged on my sofa, enjoyed the delightful quiet and cosiness that our old cottage offers, I slept (yes, really slept) in my blissfully comfortable old bed, I enjoyed a bacon sandwich, a cup of proper tea, drinking cold water out of glass instead of stale stuff from a plastic beaker.

Sally and I enjoyed the brief company of Nick and Marion Symes who brought a casserole over. We had a short walk, I had a nap.

Time for a kip

Marion, me, Sally and Rosie

Then later we enjoyed our own company, re-watching David Attenborough's new TV series (God, those goslings falling off that cliff!) and a re-run of the first series of Sherlock.

Despite Sunday evening (tomorrow's chemo) looming large on the horizon, I slept in, enjoyed the extra hour of being lazy as the clocks went back, soaked in a luxurious lavender bath, had my first proper boiled egg for weeks and in no time Tom had arrived from London to stay for the day, night and tomorrow (he's now on half term as is Sally) sorting out the log burner and getting the house nice and toasty.

I deliberately kept visitors at arm's length but was delighted to see David Robinson on the doorstep with some DVDs and having time to stop for a mid morning coffee. He and Sian have been really good to us, looking after Rosie, turning heating on, cutting grass and hedge etc. Sally went and played tennis for an hour or so while Tom and I spent a lazy time listening to music and chatting.

Tom, me, Zoe, Sally and Rosie

Zoe and her partner Cassie came over at 1.30pm and we enjoyed a delicious traditional roast pork lunch - unlike two weeks ago I was really careful this time not to overload the system. We were missing Lizzie, which was a real shame, but nonetheless had a lovely lazy Sunday eating, strolling, watching Notting Hill for the umpteenth time (love that film) before going back to hospital at 7pm. I even forgot which Chemo Day I'm on.

Exeat over. Resigned to being fixed to Horace soon, a sleepless night and some lovely cocktail of nasty stuff tomorrow. But happy, relaxed and ready.

Oh, and latest count for the fundraiser is a huge £2,160 + gift aid. Staggered.

Night night, all, love from Rosie...