Page 83 of The Life Experiment
The Life Experiment: Daily Questionnaire
Property of OPM Discoveries
How would you rate your level of contentment today? (1 represents low contentment, 10 represents high)
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
How would you rate your energy level? (1 being very low energy and 10 being very high energy)
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
What are two things you are grateful for today?
Layla making a shit time less shit
The distraction of Hugo’s House
What are you struggling with today?
My mother not telling me about her cancer. I knew we weren’t close, but this is a whole new level of dismissal
Do you have any additional notes on what you would like to discuss in your upcoming counselling session?
Hugo again. I hadn’t realised how much his death still impacts me, but now I’ve scratched the surface, I keep being reminded of it. I don’t know how to process it all
The bouquet filled Angus’s arms. The flowers hadn’t smelled quite so pungent in the florist, but in the confined lift of the hospital, their scent clogged the air. They were an over-the-top gesture, Angus thought as he saw his reflection in the lift’s mirrored door, but he hadn’t known what else to do when he’d heard the news.
After two days of constant worry and bedside vigils, Angus finally received the news that Gilly’s fever had broken. She was awake and lucid. The moment felt like it needed marking, but what to buy someone who was in hospital? Flowers felt more appropriate than something like grapes, Angus had surmised when he ventured out for a gift. Now, though, walking through the white-washed walls of the hospital, the choice seemed foolish. Flowers might look beautiful, but in a few days they would wilt and rot, a reminder of the imminent presence of death.
Gilly might have won this battle, but she hadn’t won the war. Far from it.
Angus had spent the last few days googling ovarian cancer. He’d read about treatments and prognoses and survival rates. He’d petrified himself, then calmed himself, then petrified himself all over again.
In that time, Peter finally told Angus the hidden truths of the last few months. Angus learned that Gilly had undergone surgery to remove her ovaries and fallopian tubes earlier in the year. Disguised as a two-week health retreat, the surgery had been a success.
Then the chemotherapy began. Gilly was partway through treatment, but it was taxing. Her body was weak. She was tired.
The revelation cast Gilly’s protests about Hugo’s House in a new light. She had wanted to shield herself from more talk of death, hospitals and pain. Understandable, really. But no one had trusted Angus enough to tell him.
Clutching the flowers tighter, Angus made his way to his mother’s room. Well-designed and exclusively for Gilly, it was as comfortable as people might expect from a private hospital. But even with its calming décor, there was no denying that it was still a hospital.
Through the glass door, Angus studied Gilly. She lay in bed, looking out of the window. She looked sick. So sick that the temptation to run beckoned Angus, but Gilly must have sensed his presence. Turning, she raised an eyebrow. Angus entered the room before she could see the trepidation in his eyes.
‘You seem better today,’ he commented as he moved towards the bed.
‘That’s because I am better,’ Gilly said, sitting up with a struggle.
‘I brought these for you,’ he said, thrusting the flowers forward.
‘Of course you did. They were hardly for the nurses, were they?’
Tension twanged in the air. Angus didn’t know if the comment was a joke or a barb. It was hard to tell when Gilly’s sarcasm often verged on insulting. And now the secret of her illness had been outed without her consent, Gilly was more prickly than usual.
Resting the flowers on the bedside table, Angus took a seat beside Gilly’s bed.
‘Aren’t you going to decant them into water?’ she asked, nodding at the flowers. ‘There’s a jug over there you can use.’
‘Would you like me to?’
