Even in squatter-eviction-ville.
I drafted this post weeks ago but today, another magic moment occurred that deserves sharing right here and now – at a GP appointment no less.
Michaela hasn’t been my GP for long but she was the one holding my hand on my journey to squatterville. I haven’t seen her since diagnosis, but she has been on the other end of the phone when needed full of compassion and concern. So, I guess it isn’t surprising that I was a wee bit emotional when she greeted M’darlink and I at today’s catch-up appointment. She has been keeping up with my journey via an apparently rare moment of NSW health efficiency, known as my open case file. It’s updated each time I see or speak with a practitioner and in my case, the communication has been efficient and was in fact up to date.
All care and compassion again, Michaela filled me/us with positivity, commenting on how good I looked and how strong I am for the journey I’ve been on. She appeared genuinely pleased at how I was which overflowed to me in a surprisingly empowering way. She noted my weight loss and encouraged me to listen to my body and what it needs. Little does she know that my body cries out for Peter Darbyshire strength gin and tonic and Philly Pountney sized ice creams. That surely can’t be a good thing? But hey, if the doc says listen to my body, what’s a girl to do?
At the end of the appointment she gave me a big warm hug and when I went to settle the account for the double appointment, we weren’t charged. I floated out of there on a cloud of freshly fluffed up support.
As you all know, there have been many hurdles on this squatter eviction path but with every hurdle there’s been a matching magic moment like today, and like the hurdles, the magic moments have come in all forms.
I’ve had cards arrive in the mail, flowers delivered to the door, tear jerking words scrawled on scrap paper, beautiful heart felt comments on the blog, gifts full of luciousness and practicality, simple texts containing only a rainbow or butterfly, and long texts ending with ‘no need to reply’, tarot cards pulled and read, links to meditations sent, food lovingly cooked and delivered, a bottle of top shelf French bubbles with a note ‘for when there’s something to celebrate’, I’ve even had hot chai placed on the doorstep, a mattress top collected and personally delivered and a car wash offered.
My sister sent me a Gautamalian worry doll, the one that got her through her bloke’s heart attack, it worked for her so she passed it on to me. I’m to pop it under my pillow and pass my worries to her to solve in my sleep. Now if that’s not crying material, what is?
And what about Melb buddies putting their lives on hold to come and play carers – unbelievable – each lending their professional skills as a generous added bonus, eg, fellow designer friend Sandy helping with a job and osteo Eve sorting out my upper arm twitch, let alone my weekly cranio sacral session with Chez who travels across town so I can be in the comfort of home. I even had a home visit haircut from the forever generous Fi. And of course the handful of chauffeurs and the many many more chauffeur offers we didn’t need to take up.
And of course there’s ma and pa. In their early eighties, dropping everything to move in with us in the early weeks of the squatter eviction journey. How fucked life can be… Isn’t it meant to be us looking after them at this stage of life?
The generosity and kindness that has been sent our way both physically and energetically has been heart meltingly overwhelming. I’ve not shed many tears on this journey but when a magic moment lands in my lap, I go to pieces. And it’s all your fault!