I don't know how to start this post. I've pondered whether to write it a hundred times since Monday. But I've just visited one or two other blogs, and it seems to me that I need the Circle, the Daisychain, to close round me at the moment.
No, it's not all bad. And I do realise that it's my "worry" mode turned up as far as the dial will go. But my head is spinning so badly, and my stomach is so filled with bats (yes, you heard, not butterflies, they're too pleasant) that I have to do some talking.
On Monday I had to take Starman to the hospital. I took him there for a biopsy. It seems he may have developed prostate cancer.
This is where I do so hope any man over the age of 40 is listening, and that any wife with a husband over the age of 40 is listening too.
Each year Starman has a 'well man' check up. He always has a test called a PSA. It is carried out to determine whether or not a man may be at risk of prostate cancer. In the UK this test is not offered as a matter of course. You have to ask for it. Because Starman's father died of this disease 14 years ago, he has this test every single year. There have never been any problems. Until now.
The score came out on the high side and wheels immediately went into motion. We have been backwards and forwards to hospital since November. He has had CAT scans, ultra-sounds, gallons of blood tests. In fact, you name it and he has had it. And nothing conclusive.
I have to add that he hasn't had any symptoms at all either. Not getting up in the night to pee (that's always me!), no swelling or enlargement, no pain or lack of sensation, no nothing!
But the consultant at the hospital isn't happy. Hence the biopsy. In fact he had ten samples taken - five from each side. He said is wasn't very pleasant, and caused him some discomfort, but nothing he couldn't handle, and no real pain. And he hasn't had any side effects at all.
So it takes about ten days to culture the samples. And we get to know 12 days from now. The consultant wants to see both of us. As if I'd let Starman go alone!!!!
So this is why I'm not myself at the moment. This is why one minute I'm way up in the air, and the next I'm down in the wagon ruts. It all seems like a bad dream. I keep thinking I'll wake up any minute.
It's the waiting that's doing my head in.
Starman is very calm about it all. Very stoic. Very strong. He is sleeping well, and continues to snore for England. But I lie awake and worry worry worry. I just want to know what we are fighting. And if we aren't fighting anything, then the flags will go out so far you will see them wherever you live!
Now, see the difference between the two pictures?
All this time I've been struggling with our new dynamic. I've done nothing but grumble and rant, moan and complain.
The times I wondered whether I should just squish this before we went any further. The times I wondered whether I have been right to introduce it at all. The times I thought that maybe it is all too much for either of us to think about at the moment.
We had quite heavy snow for a couple of days. Grim, grey skies. Large thick flakes. Then last night the stars came out. We can see the plough clearly through our bedroom windows and when the moon rises it has a tendency to wake us up as it shines directly on our faces. But last night we both slept well, without any of the usual tossing and turning. The temperatures dropped to -12 C and for once I didn't sleep with my arms on top of the duvet.
Overnight outside turned into fairyland. The sky was blue, the sun came up, and the frost glittered off the bare branches like diamonds.
Starman went downstairs and did my job. He brought me coffee back to bed, and then climbed back in with me.
For once the house was quiet.
"Come on old girl, what's wrong?"
It was 'face in chest hair' time. (No! not my chest hair - his! No! I don't have chest hair! Oh for goodness sake!)
I told him how worried I was and that I couldn't bear anything to happen to him. We chatted for a while, him a lot calmer than me.
"So... " he said. "You want a bit of re-assurance then?"
"Well, only if you feel your hand can manage it. I mean, well, yes please. But don't worry, I'll lie by your side and you can just lean over. I don't want cause you any discomfort."
"I'll be just fine. Up you go, over my lap."
The bedroom was freezing. The underfloor heating wasn't coping. I leapt out of bed. "I'll just put my nightie on" I told him.
"No you won't" he became suddenly very HOH. "Spankings are with nothing on." Oh...
I climbed back on the bed and over his lap, wriggling to get into position, which isn't the easiest as my head tends to hand over the edge of the bed.
"Now just get up again and go get me that wooden spatula thing." Oh....bloody hell, not that again!
I climbed back down. "Are you sure? I mean. I'm not arguing, but what about the paddle instead?"
"No. I like that little spatula." He would!
"Look," I said handing the wretched thing to him. "I'm not demanding. But do you think you might give me a warm up with your hand first. That thing stings very badly."
He considered. I got back into position.
He has come a long way has Starman. I am back in full admiration mode.
"I'm sorry I've been a bit sharp and edgy this last couple of days. It's been a long time you know. I don't want this. But I need it. I don't like it at the time. But I like the way I feel afterwards."
Starman is spanking away. For once he doesn't say more than a couple of words. So I shut up and concentrate on not clenching.
Good grief he has learned a lot. You'd think he'd been having lessons.
The spanking gradually built and built. In between some of the spanks he rubbed my bottom. Then there were little flurries of six or seven spanks. I became a bit restless. Some were actually beginning to hurt quite a bit. I rested my forehead on my right arm. One or two "Ows" were slipping out.
I kept my face down. I could feel him reach for something.
My legs lifted, I swear totally involuntarily, in complete harmony, from the bed. Oh heavens that hurt!
Then again and again and again.
And no rubs this time.
Well, I thought, trying hard to control my breathing, this is what I wanted, this is what I asked for, this is what I need. Oh Ow!!!
I was already more than a bit sore from his hand. This was the icing on the cake! I started to cry.
I felt Starman slow. "Are you crying? I'm not going to carry on if you're crying." Oh Oh Oh
"No, I'm fine" I managed to gasp out convincingly. "Just carry on. You're doing really well."
Now was I supposed to say that? It hurt like hell but I didn't want him to stop. I needed this to rid me of my demons. This wasn't just reassurance, or readjustment, or maintenance, or just you watch your attitude for the rest of the week. It was like a reaffirmation of vows. A final letting go of the old angst at long last.
I tried my best to cry quietly. I worked very hard not to kick my feet up to high. But I now understand that feet and legs have a mind of their own! I gripped the side of the bed and tried to take deep breaths, but the occasional Ow (okay, the frequent Ow) kept coming out of my mouth.
At last he stopped and put the wooden thing down. Hated, hated wooden thing!
He started all over with his hand!
"Actually, I've been thinking" he said. I just knew he had been far too quiet.
"You've missed two weeks worth of spanking. So I'd better make up for it."
"You could always do it another day" I suggested.
"No. I don't know when we'll get another quiet time around here" he replied.
It just went on and on.
This time, in between flurries of spanks, he rubbed my bottom.
"It's getting good and red" he remarked, stopping to rub.
"May I get up now please?" I asked.
"No not yet. You can get up when I say so" he replied. Oh HOH HOH HOH!!!
Eventually after a "super-flurry" he slowed and stopped.
I lay exhausted. A good half hour had passed. And this was maintenance??? Please explain dear readers, because I understand less as the weeks go by!
I crawled off his lap and lay gingerly on my back sinking into the soft mattress.
Then my ears couldn't believe what they were hearing.
"I think I'd like some sex now please" he pinned me down. Ouch!
Afterwards we talked a lot more. I was nervous he might have overdone the exercise. But he felt really fine.
And later, when he was shaving, I crept into the bathroom behind him. I put my arms round his middle and hugged him and kissed the side of his neck.
"I'm so scared. I just don't want anything to happen to you" I whispered.
"We'll be all right old girl" he reassured me, trying to shave without cutting himself.
"I love you" I told him. "I just want you to know that you've made me feel so good. You've set me up for the week. I just can't do without this now. Thank you."
I left him to carry on and I went back to our ensuite. (He has the big bathroom.)
I turned to scurry past the full-length mirror just through the entrance to our bedroom.
Yes, you've guessed it.
Red, black, blue and purple.
So, this is "sore-bottomed from deepest, darkest, rural England" signing off.
(Oh yes, and any prayers please, would be gratefully accepted, because I, for one, am still sick with worry.)