Saturday, 6 December 2014

Hey Jude, meet Dude.

In the midst of the madness that is Christmas season, the poor post room in my office delivers shed loads of stuff around the building which has positively zero to do with business and more to do with folks-who-work-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-so-will-never-be-home-to-receive-packages. Yesterday my friends in that magical goods-in room delivered me a big honking box full of the heaviest PC speakers I have ever seen. Having been selected and ordered by T meant they are the beez kneez of audio equipment and had to be immediately set up and tested at full volume at the earliest opportunity.

As you do.

So I hoiked them from the office into the car and delivered to the front of our house, whereby strong hubby-person hoiked them back out and into the house, landing them on the floor with a thump and a fair few grunts. As Rukai and I engaged in the standard evening rituals, and I nursed a sore right shoulder, swollen from all that hoiking of Rukais and runner's water bottles and heavy-ass speakers, there was T, man-caving his way through wires and workarounds for the European plug sent with said speakers (and the cursing was world class throughout for this oversight alone).

But lo and behold there then they were, set up and standing proud and there again out blasts Fleetwood Mac and Tina Turner and loadsandloadsa Michael Jackson and anything additional everso heavy on the bass. (You know you just started singing THAT song but I will spare you here, and now I'll remind you that you will surely find it in your music folder or on YouTube so go watch and come back...we'll still be here.)

Ok, you back now? Right, so to the point.

After all the hoiking and behind and under and around all the thumping and HEE!hee of MJ pumping out of that magical new kit comes the dulcet tones of Sir Paul caressing my very soul.

'Heyyyyy Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better...'

And back went my memory to our 20 week scan, when currently hoik-able Rukai was nought but a blob on a screen with an echogenic focus in the top left quadrant and plenty to get medical bods up in arms about.

Sure as the day is long our other intrepid hero, Granny Rainbow Angel, accompanied us from the Great Beyond to that appointment, showing her freckled loving face to me as we turned into the parking lot of that old cement hospital from hell, to that appointment where everything didn't quite CHANGE, so much as it had BEGUN.

There as we curled past yet another sign painted with Granny Rainbow Angel's ethereal, multicolored smile, Sir P crooned out that ridiculously foreshadowing message. Telling Jude not to make it bad.

Crooned it out. To me. Going There. For That. Me, born on the very same day as the feast of St. Jude. Going There. For That. You couldn't write this shit.

(The movement you need is on your shoulder...)

How I knew. Right there and then, how I knew. At week 20. And how they made me fear! It was a long, long scary pregnancy, friends.

So forward now here in our Happy Place, here to our kitchen and to its makeshift man-cave and there comes the tap on the shoulder, the hug, the rainbow from those hoikable, heavy-ass speakers.

Oh, music does make you remember!

To think of how it was that day, the day I knew we were not in for 'ordinary'.

Thank God! Thank Jah! Thank Buddah! Thank Granny Rainbow Angel! Thank Whomever!

I will never un-hear those words of the sonographer 'I'm sorry I couldn't give you better news'. Based on supposition about what he saw, what he thought it could mean. What he expected. What we all expected. And so little true. Every day, less true. We are as lucky as that little dude on the cereal box with the pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars, green clovers and blue diamonds.

And this life IS magically delicious.

'I'd ask you whether the outcome of an amnio would make any difference to you before I'd suggest it.' says Sonographer Person.

'It would make no difference,' says We. 'This baby is coming into this life whether he's going to stay eight minutes, eight days, or eight decades.'

And he smiled. And he turned. And he ticked some more boxes, wrote some more notes. Notes that included 'declined amnio'. You know, in case.

I want to bring Rukai to see him.
'Does he look like a problem to you?' I'd ask.

And he'd smile. And he'd say 'No. No, he doesn't.' And he'd know. As I live and breathe, then he would KNOW.

I really should go back. I really should make him know.

But that visit would make us go There. And There is a place that blocks us to no end. It's like kryptonite. It leadens my legs and boils my guts. And me leaden does nothing for my son. So I will not dare. We will look ahead and not behind. And the path ahead has shone remarkably since we severed our connection to There. I could not love this place any more and each day, each interaction, all better than the last.

It is a strange one but this is our life. It is my duty to make it good. I honestly do not care about anything else.

And wa-hey, 'Hey Jude' is one piece of music which brings it ALL back. Like Adele Rolling in her Deep. Every day we are making the sad song a little better.

And for that movement? That movement I need, that is on my shoulder?

Not much on your shoulder when you hoik off the world and just walk into your tomorrow. Leave what blocks you behind and then you begin.

Lost cause? Not hardly.
Hey, Jude. Meet Dude.

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