I may be lucky enough to have A Few Good Men in my life, but not one of them is as good looking as Tom Cruise. Although they might be slightly saner…
I am lucky enough to have A Few Good Men in my life – in addition to my Beloved. One or two (maybe more) of whom (Dad, if you are reading this, look away NOW) may or may not have seen me erm with rather less clothing than I usually wear. You know, back in the day when we were young and sexy and I was not the lumpy, broken, middle-aged, tumour-infested woman I am today. And they had rather more hair. Of course, these days they have wives and children and I have a much-beloved husband. Who still has ALL his hair. So we talk about ourselves and our lives, they tell me about their wives and children and jobs and whatever else it is that people who have known each other forever talk about.
But, being a vain, ageing woman, I have always secretly hoped that they still thought I was hot. You know how it is. Or maybe it’s just me. Sigh. After I had had my encounter(s) with the bedpan and a 75-year-old man had stuck his finger up my bum (oh, God. My brain hurts) and several nurses had wiped my er lady bits er special place and shown me that I was “still sick” (shakes head in resignation), I had hoped that, in the words of the spiritual guru, Ram Dass, “ego is gone”.
Turns out, having men whom you hope still remember you naked with fondness (DAD! For heaven’s sake, I TOLD you to stop reading) see you in hospital with five-day-old hair, in your hospital gown, who have escorted you to the toilet (where you had to wee with the door open lest you fell down in a dead faint again, while they sang loudly and just out of sight), who have seen you in your tracksuit pants and slippers, with your piggy, bespectacled eyes, is way more spiritually improving.
They have all, to a man, (unsolicited, I might add) told me that I am still sexy as fuck (my words, not theirs. And I may be exaggerating slightly. And now, come to think of it, when they said “You look great,” they might have meant, “for someone who has just had a hip replacement and brain surgery in quick succession.” Anyway). Which just goes to show that my ego, while it may have suffered several near-devastating blows, is still very much intact. (I really must get down with that whole meditating vibe). And that even when I was young and stupid, I mean sexy, I still had the good sense to choose men who were kind. Or, I guess, big fat liars. And that they are at an age when they should probably get their eyes checked. But I am so grateful to have them in my life. Blind, bald, and kind.
***
You can read a great interview with Ram Dass on the Huffington Post here or read his book Be Love Now. He uses words like “scene” and “freaked” and talks about “hanging out with my guru” a lot, and says he “didn’t have one whiff of God until [he] took psychedelics.” Like, totally cool, man.
Image from usatoday
It’s been five months to the day since I had my last cigarette. How did I quit with such ease, you may ask? I shall tell you: I got cancer. Admittedly only for a few weeks until they decided it wasn’t, in fact, cancer, but still. That initial period of shock was all it took. I did have one moment, a couple of weeks in, when I almost smoked: my friend Sam and I were opening a bottle of red wine (while My Beloved was lighting the fire) and I said, wistfully, “Ooh, this is exactly when I want to smoke.” And then it dawned on me: “Hang on – I already HAVE cancer, so what difference will it make?” Sam is not often wise but he looked at me shrewdly and said: “But you can unget cancer.” And I thought, Ja, maybe smoking when your body is already fucked, is not the wisest move. So I didn’t smoke then and haven’t, not once, wanted one since. And, as it happened, I did unget cancer. 
