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.

This is not unexpected, but it is tiring to feel so frightened all the time.  I keep trying to be rational, but it took my Breast Care Nurse, Kit, speaking to me kindly today to finally calm me.  My fears centre around whether my cancer is treatable or not.  The treatments for cancer may be unpleasant but they are just that, treatments.  I have a bone scan and CT scan to come and the implications of those findings are seeping into my head and waking me at night in sweats.  This fear bubbled over when the Breast Surgeon’s secretary phoned me today saying that he needed to see me tomorrow.  My mother’s assertion that when they phone you quickly there is something seriously wrong came straight into my head and I burst into terrified tears.  She was very sweet and assured me she really didn’t know what he needed to see me about and said she’d she what she could find out.  Twenty minutes later Kit phoned, and all my brave façade crumbled.  She was practical – the tests are a precaution, nothing she has seen suggests the cancer is anything but treatable, it is perfectly understandable that I am worried.  She added that it was better if I didn’t let fear get a hold, to put all my worries into a beautiful box and close the lid until I come to my appointments and then open the lid again.  Also, I don’t need to see the Breast Surgeon yet, she had cancelled that appointment and booked one later in the month, but I do need an additional ultrasound as they are not certain that the lymph glands are clear, so that will be done when the clip is fitted to the tumour to monitor its response to Herceptin.  She cleverly mentioned that lots of tumours get a great deal smaller with and even some tumours vanish altogether with Herceptin, but I can’t think of that.  I believed my husband when he said he’d made a mistake and really loved me and I had him back.  I’ve had false dawns.  I’m going to wait until the sun is truly shining until I believe the new day has come.  The long dark night is drawing round me, but one day the sun must shine again.