My Brain is Full

Too much stuff going on.

I have to keep most of it in, because of patient confidentiality/loyalty/employment law/defamation/tact (hah! me??)/fear of finally, finally getting carted away by the white-coat lads

Washing

Shopping

Childcare

Elder care

Sore shoulder

Sore neck

Chiropodist

Physio

B&B 

Car rental

Ski socks

School books

Email the lady to give out

Email the man to please fix our house without breaking my heart

Phone the insurance company again because I don't believe what they said the first time

Engage

Proceed

Fulfil

Don't stop

Stop

Keep going

Keep it under control

Sleep, for the love of god

Stop staying for the love of god, it's confusing the children

Decide if I did like the movie or not

Despair about the shafted doctor

Regain the fire in the belly (you'd think the radiotherapy would have done that for me)

Think positive thoughts

Be critical

Be hopeful

Be kind

Buy new clothes

Care more

Care less

Eat more bloody vegetables - I'm not going to "beat the odds" without the flipping kale

Let go

Take it back

Breathe

Out 

In

Guilty

I wrote before about having middle-class guilt.

Now I have acquired another strain, of the survivor's variety. 
This is a common phenomenon; research articles and personal stories abound. 
So it's a thing, and I have a dose of it. It's one of those vicious circle ones - the more you think about it, the worse it gets.

Why am I doing so well, after getting a diagnosis that generally means it's all over? 
Even if/when it does go belly-up, I have had such good quality of life in the past three years (she says in rose-tinted hindsight), that I really can't complain. 

I have embraced social media for contacting and engaging with fellow cancerheads. It's been very reassuring and comforting to hear other people's stories and share experiences. But I feel like an imposter now, because I'm not receiving any treatment, I don't take any meds, I forget to get my bloods done, and scans have become so routine now I am back to enjoying them again (almost). 

The downside to making a load of new virtual friends with terminal cancer is, well, that they die. Or get sicker. Or go through the hell of repeated bad news. I feel that my story might be a comfort to them, but it could also just be a kick in the teeth. "Yeah yeah, bully for you with your miraculous recovery, you poxy wench", I hear them say (in me head). It is very upsetting to hear of people who have been in a similar boat to me, but theirs has capsized and is foundering. 

I have met the relatives of people whose cancer experience was just plain hard all the way to the end. There were no glimpses of light at the end of the tunnel, no moments of joyous dancing with their hands up in the air. Just pain and suffering and hard bloody work. 

So I feel bad that I feel good. And I worry about saying that, in case I jinx things.