I’ve said this before, but I will repeat, the waiting game has quite possibly got to be the worst part of the big C journey. There is nothing so brutal as waiting for an appointment letter to come or for the next appointment. Tomorrow will be a week since I heard I was ‘cancer clear’ and I am still yet to spot the golden envelope come through the door, beckoning me for the next red carpet of chemo! However, today was an interesting day on the FB group I follow and I had a little bit of hope about being able to work through chemo. Maybe my life won’t stop and I can pretend that this chemo bit is just a side journey.
Whoop! The golden letter arrived! Guess what – two weeks time I get to meet the oncology consultant – booked for the 13/11 at 12. I knew it. And booked for the middle of the day. Perfect bloody time to disrupt my working life. But two weeks bizarrely felt comforting. We’re following the same journey.
Although today, I have again been brought down to earth with this cancer journey, I’ve just read something that says I can’t give blood anymore. Now I did not know that was going to happen, and although I totally get it now I know it, I just never thought about it. It’s been a few years since I have gone to have a 30min lie down and a cup of tea and biscuits afterwards! I’ve had a flash back to my last lump removal a good few years ago now, and remember they said I couldn’t do it for a while, I also couldn’t when we returned from Sri Lanka, and then again when I was pregnant. During that time my dad got old and was told he couldn’t donate anymore (not just because of old age!). I remember how devastated he was about it but didn’t really pay it more attention than acknowledgement. And for no good reason I haven’t got round to going back to a session (non-good reasons constitute ‘too busy’, ‘wrong times’, ‘too tired’, ‘can’t be bothered’, and many other ridiculous excuses). I now wish I had don’t it every time I could. So if you can, please do. Don’t regret something so easy. When I look back now, I could have probably well done with a 30min nap followed by a hot cup of tea and biscuit in peace!!
I can’t wallow long on this issue though as I have a glitter infestation. Last night (bad mama bear had to do a last minute shop) a sparkly, glittery, ridiculous Halloween outfit was purchased for school and trick or treating. Which has meant that my house is covered from top to toe in glitter. But I have the happiest cub, with her twirly dress and horns. We’ve also bought enough sweets to feed the street (adults and kids) and it’s been a quiet trick or treat night so the cub and I are in for a real treat!!
Jumping forward – 08/11/18
I am back to normal. No random appointments, work is mental, and every day since the last golden letter and now has been a version of my old normality. There is no discernible difference now. Why should there be? I don’t ‘have’ cancer. I am cancer free. I only have to deal with chemo to dispel any pesky micro cells. So technically, why should life be different?
Normality has returned to the exterior of my life with such ease. I am working full time, mama bearing full time, housewiving full time and holding it together full time. I am holding it together like I always do, like I always have, and like I always will. My family need me, and my work (might) need me. But a part of my brain still takes me down rabbit holes now and again.
I’ve been reading more of the FB group I am in and devouring any post that relates to chemo, drugs and outcome. I am not a fan of going down a rabbit hole with google as you already know, but this feels like I’m researching without doing the actual research. I’m getting real ladies life experiences and that somehow feels better. (I also appreciate it’s a lot like being on trip adviser and wondering what the hell people have written about when you’ve had a good experience of a location that they hated!!). From what I can work out, chemo has some weird and wonderful side effects. Hair loss seems more prominent with some drugs regardless of cold capping, and everyone is different.
Maybe that’s why I feel so blasé about it at the moment. My ‘clear’ cancer day seems a million years ago. I can’t keep wallowing in my own self pity. I have a parents evening to contend with and a game face to plaster on. I am my cubs mama and I will show that teacher that we have it all together to support her.
Real life whoop – it is a rugby weekend, Autumn Internationals for those not in the know (and Union – apologies to Karens husband Dan for that!!). We’ve had a Saturday of chills, but a clingy cub. I swear she knows sometimes that I need a hug, but also doesn’t know how to just do one – so turns into a hugging monster! Super clingy and needy. And while I try and temper that with knowledge that five year olds aren’t equipped to have all the understanding of an adult, when I’m followed to the toilet for the tenth time that day my actual temper is tested!!
BUT! Tonight, I have had the most awe inspiring night. I noticed that a friend had shared a cancer walk that she might be interested in (apologies Jill – you started this!!). I couldn’t (didn’t want to) let her do that alone so I decided to pop a little note on my FB page about the fact that I had signed up to do a similar walk in the Lake District (with an awesome colleague from work). Within three hours fifteen people who I have worked with over the last few years, friends and family, had all declared their interest. I can’t actually describe how this makes me feel. But I know I am honoured. To have the best of people around me (some may be further away from me now than others, but they are still around me). This has been inspiring to me, and while I know that walking twenty-six miles may be brutal just four months after chemo, I know that these amazing people will keep me going, keep me strong and keep me sane. And to be honest that’s what they do without realising every day. Whether near or far, I am inspired by them all and they will continue to do that for me.
I still have this fight. I’ve got this.