Hair Today

It has taken quite a lot to get down to writing this week, not something I’ve had a problem with in the past, but I promised myself I would write this as a record for me, so rather than assume I’d remember all that happened this week, I have kept my promise to myself and opened the laptop.

Alongside my own ‘extraordinary, ordinary storm in a teacup’ we have had a very hot summer.  I’m not sure whether the mind numbing heat has somehow allowed me to attribute some of my perceptions to be clouded.  Was it the heat that made it seem so unreal and otherworldly or have I just got used to the idea of having cancer and settled down a bit more into the reality of my diagnosis?  Or is it, like the amnesia that happens after childbirth, the mind in an attempt to help you deal with the past, just wipes it from the front of your mind and files it away quickly and efficiently, so the pain that so overwhelmed has diffused and gone.  With the passing of time I can recall the pain, but in the year after my first daughter was born that perception faded, only to come into stark clarity as soon as I got pregnant with number two.  It’s one of those ‘old wives tales’, I’m sure, for I didn’t have life threatening issues in childbirth, but I am told one of the problems of having the father of your child with you at the birth is it can be very distressing to see your loved one in such pain, and something that doesn’t fade with the passing of time.

Testing, Testing, Testing

Part of the information given to me by the breast surgeon was the notification that several tests were to be undertaken.  Primarily to determine whether the cancer might have spread, but also to insert a clip into the tumour as a marker.  As I have Herceptin receptive cancer they want a way to measure the tumour’s progress with the chemotherapy. The tests were to be a bone scan and a CT scan, in addition to the MRI.  All this is very business like and efficient and you must admit they really are looking after me.  I’m now at the end of my week of tests, with no results yet, and feel I’m passing through a gateway.  Actually, the picture that comes to mind is one of an Ancient Greek adventurer in a small wooden boat passing under a natural stone bridge between two islands.  Something like Jason and Argonauts, from the original fabulously engaging 1963 version with special effects that so entranced me as a child.  I’m sailing into new unchartered waters, and with this, I know I’m changing how I regard myself.

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.

10 Years On

Well here we are, 10 years on, and I have, much to my surprise in those early years, survived.  Sadly, of course, I have not found lasting happiness, but there is time for that, so I tell myself.

I made this sad little slide show in August 2008, partly as a way to teach myself to use the application, but also as a way to try and vent my raw, desperate feelings.  I've always kept it, and rarely shown it, partly because it is very rough round the edges, and partly because it is a personal salute to the life I lost.  However, fingers crossed my life is about to change again, and, fingers even more firmly crossed plus prayers, for the better.  Who knows?  My problems are quite small compared to the suffering even here on the streets of Norwich, with a roof over my head and enough money to feed and clothe myself adequately.  It would be nice to find a new happy ever after, which seems as much of an impossibility as James leaving me all those years ago, so there has to be hope.

I have survived, some might say I have even thrived, and that is to be celebrated in these dark days of winter.

Being Undateable: A sentence or a release?

I get a number of predictable responses to the statement that I regard myself as undateable.  True, I used to state this in a passive aggressive kind of way to elicit sympathy, to garner assurances from others that I was all right really.  Part of a psyche that does not trust itself.  My judgment has been found to be flawed so many times that I find it difficult to shake off the notion that I don’t know best.  But now I have started to be irritated by responses, exhortations and demands that I am not undateable.  There is someone out there, perfect for me, just around the corner, if I stopped looking.  But I have stopped looking.  I still look at men because I like looking at attractive men, but I do not want to do internet dating, I don’t see potential partners in the places I go, I don’t want to be ‘picked up in a bar’

Constant Cravings

It’s been a battle to get to the laptop and start to write again.  This ‘battle’ has been a symptom of my way of life in recent months: a struggle to justify why I do what I do, and why I need to go on.

It is dangerous to go on about the appeal of suicide, partly because, in my case, it seems like crying wolf; if I was really serious, surely I would have done something by now?