Sunday 28 January 2018

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




Saturday 13 January 2018

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.