I got to my daughter's graduation this weekend. Hurray! Looking through the photos this morning, it struck me how much of our lives is under the surface - packed with miniature dramas that no-one else sees.
For instance, what this picture doesn't show:
- the weeks of planning and worry over what accommodation to book (can I get a ground floor room, will it be easy to get a taxi... should I up my prednisolone dose beforehand...what about the beta blockers...how do I book disabled seating in the theatre...what about a walking stick?...)
- the agonising as I was due to leave (can I really do it?...working out the timing of my drugs to fit with the journey...where are the possible rest-points on the way....any chemists...can I trust my phone...?)
- on the big morning itself...the desperation when not one of the four taxi firms I rang would accept my booking ("It's our busy time, mate, we don't take anything under 5 miles now")....the embarrassment of creeping at a snail's pace to the venue through crowds of bustling tourists and shoppers...the sinking feeling that I might not make it at all...battling the sensation of breathing through a bagful of cement...
- at the venue at last, struggling against waves of nausea and a splitting headache...looking furtively around to see if there was somewhere I could lie down...fumbling in my pockets in the vain hope that I had an extra painkillers tucked away somewhere....worrying that the video would capture my grey face in all its grisly detail....
- afterwards looking around for a seat as we stood in line for the official photographs....and on and on....
But it also doesn't show the kindness of the door staff who, seeing me practically crawling across the courtyard to the theatre, hurried out and led me gently to a disabled seat and brought me water, and the college porter afterwards who said, "Would you like a hand, sir?" and drove me down the padlocked service road so that I could (finally! after 3 years of failing!) get into a punt and be poled along the river like one of the bright young things from "Brideshead Revisited"...
Before I got ill, I used to climb mountains. Several times, I had hair raising adventures and once, caught in a blizzard on Mont Blanc, I thought I was going to die. But that half-mile through the streets of Oxford was as epic as any of those climbs. Although us in the lupie family often have limited horizons, we can have as much drama in our lives as the most dedicated extreme sports enthusiast, don't you agree? And I bet everyone here has a photo in their album that doesn't tell half of the story that lies behind it x