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Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Who Wants A Drink?

So...

I left Dr Luke's surgery and got in the car. I phoned Sister #1 and assured her I was fine and that it would all turn out to be a 'storm in a tea cup'. She said she would fly in the next day. I told her not to as I just wanted to digest it all, but she said she was coming anyway.

And I thought that was pretty nice.

By now I am stuck in 'football traffic' on Punt Road. On a Friday night. That is enough to make anyone cry.

So I did.

I threw myself a 'pity party' that lasted all of about a minute. I just couldn't be arsed with the dramatics of it all. I was scared that if I started, I would never stop.

Still am.

So I wiped the tears and did the call around looking for a drinking partner.

Now when one has had news such as this, I'm sure that there is a protocol that one should follow. Me? Just felt like a drink.

So I could have phoned a plethora of friends, but I didn't want to tell anyone (Sister #1 was sworn to secrecy as my plan was to deal with this and not tell anyone) But I had ran into a friend a few weeks earlier that I hadn't seen in ages, and for no particular reason other than I know he doesn't mind a refreshing beverage from time to time, I called him.

It was easy. He wouldn't ask any questions, and I wouldn't feel guilty later about not telling him what had happened at the Doctors half an hour earlier.

So I phoned Ham and asked what he was up to. He said he wasn't going out as he wanted a quiet night, but I could drop in for a quick drink on my way home if I wanted to. I told him I had had some bad news, but didn't want to talk about it.

I don't think either of us had ANY idea of how ridiculous that weekend was about to become. Actually, I KNOW neither of us had any idea how ridiculous that weekend was to become. And I have to say that that Friday night will probably stick out in my mind as one of the truly funniest nights of my life.

And there has been some bloody funny ones.

As I said, Ham doesn't mind a beverage, so one drink turned into two, into twenty seven, into one hundred and forty million. Chain smoking was invented as an Olympic sport and fights over the airconditioning was as dramatic as the night got.

At some point (possibly drink number seven) I, in my infinite wisdom, realised that there was a big chance that I would end up getting drunk enough to spill the beans on what was unravelling so I wrote it down on a piece of paper and shoved it in a drawer.

Why? I dunno. I was PISSED!!!!

It had already been revealed that Sister #1 was heading to town the next day. So he knew something was up, but as we had had a run of baaaaad luck in our family recently and he said later he thought that we had had another family member drop-off-the-perch. But he left it alone.

So at about 8am on the Saturday (there had been no sleep) I decided that NOW was the time to tell him.

Yup, get shitfaced and then tell one of the most emotional people you have ever met that you have a terminal disease.

Ladies and gentlemen, please stand and put your hands together as 'The Drama Llamas' are about to hit the stage!

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