The Tricky Second Post

Whilst I thought I was able to anticipate the reaction to my first post following my cancer diagnosis, the outpouring of good will has been slightly overwhelming.  This has set up a spiritual battle within me, and one, if you’ve read the rest of the blog, that won’t surprise you.  It is the sin of pride.  I am delighted that people have read my story, relieved I haven’t had to repeat it over and over again, watching faces try and assemble themselves out of shock and into a supportive caring pose, relieved to have got it all written down.  However, at the same time I am aware that pride in my achievements is dangerous thing.  This awareness was inculcated from early childhood.  If you’ve ever met my brother, you know he’s an extremely modest man.  He did try to justify his enormous professional success to luck, but as his big sister I hotly contested that and told him very firmly that luck was only part of it, his intelligence and very hard work had far more to do with it, and that his success was also entirely justified.   He was uncomfortable at my assertion, much as I have been uncomfortable with the plaudits that have been flung my way.  Unlike his undeniable success, I am aware that those who didn’t like or didn’t want to read the blog probably have just side-stepped saying anything to avoid hurting my feelings at such a challenging time in my life.  I hope that those who want to avoid my musings will just avoid the blog, and I have a small gang of supporters who will forgive any vainglorious smugness that may appear. Though today, I feel anything but proud, my main emotion is one of terror.

The Big C

My brother and I have always known that we are on the A list for cancer.  I’ve always kept fit, neither of us smoke any more and he drinks less than I do.  Is there something else I should have done or not done?  Would it have made a difference?  It’s one of the thoughts that lurks once you have a diagnosis: did I deserve this?

I can almost hear the readers screaming ‘NO’ the looks of outrage accompanied by veritable thought bubbles of denial, and at this time at the start of the process to rid my body of the cancer that has grown, it is probably the least helpful thing I can do.  I find it hard to accept that the cancer is part of me, it seems much easier to see it as an alien invader, but of course it is not.  I’m no expert, although I fear I’m going to acquire a great deal of knowledge I would be much happier never knowing, but I find it hard to accept that something growing inside me has the power, almost it feels, the desire, to destroy me.