I am feeling so unwell. Terrible. I cannot find the words to tell you how I am feeling.
My head weighs more than my car. My bones feel long – I can feel everyone of them trying to snap. My hips don’t work. My lips are sticky and I’m growing a cold sore fit for a king at the corner of my mouth. I’m bloody angry. My body (or so I thought) has been coping so well, I can’t pretend I don’t feel sharp disappointment with myself. I aspire to be the best I can – exceed personal expectations and enjoy the rewards for it. Gonna have to re-learn this now. No point chasing this feeling anymore.
I think it may be the side effects of the injections? I reach out to someone who I know class as a friend – I have told you about her before. A once colleague now in remission. She says it how it is – very honest – inspiring – and she knows exactly what I am saying. She throws so much praise and encouragement my way, ‘You’re a f***ing awesome human being – chemo is a f***ing poison and you are taking this shit head on’.
I crumble inside. Her words are so powerful – so strong – I breathe them in as an antidote to the other powerful and strong war going on inside me. Another person thinks I am ‘f***ing awesome’. You don’t hear that everyday.
You can’t see it – just feel its devastating effects by the second. You feel the conflict in every fiber of your being and can’t do a damn thing about it. You never know from one second to another how you are going to feel. I hate this more than anything. It’s cruel and mean. You manage your side effects, yes, but because they are so nasty, they kid you into feeling fine one minute – then BANG – you feel utterly shockingly bad the next you can’t even stand up.
So, what can I control now? How do I stop absorbing this mass destruction and giving it what it wants? Me.
I am literally fighting for my life. Sounds dramatic – but so true. If I don’t have chemo I will die. My tumor will continue to spread through the little B roads, then A roads until it finds the motorway in my body.
I have just thought about letting my body ‘be’. Not take the treatment. There’s a flicker of peace within that crazy thought. Who on earth would chose to die and give in? In the corners of my mind I can see how this might work. I would get on with my life – as I was – full steam ahead – I’d embrace my days and live off positive thinking. I would tell myself ‘I am healthy and well’ and believe that would cure me. Shrink my cancer by the power of thought. I have read about others doing this I am sure I have.
Do you think I am crazy? Selfish? Normal?
I would bypass all of these revolting ups and downs that are now the bedrock of my life. On 26/05 – the day of diagnosis – D day – I was in bed. It was about 16:30 pm. I didn’t sleep – I just lay there eyes closed – “I’ve got breast cancer” – going over and over in my head. On torturous loop. My husband and eldest daughter came in to see me. The air was rich in fear, grief and disbelief. No one knew what to say. I’d already chosen the songs I wanted playing at my funeral. I’d already wondered how many people would have turned up. I wasn’t crying. Not even sad. I’d been catapulted to a different planet that day. God knows where I had landed but I was making sense to myself.
So I have cancer. Right. This is what I don’t want to happen.
I DO NOT WANT A LIFE OF CANCER – TREAT – REPEAT
I will not put my beautiful family through years of this. No way. I told them both. I would rather let my life end now than make ‘us’ morph into a morbid ball of chemo, sickness, anxiety and fear. It would be easier for us all long term to just get this done now and we can all move on with or lives. My kids will remember me now and my husband could move on and find another person to love him the way he deserves. I said this all so calmly. So pragmatic. It felt so right to say it out loud. I can’t tell you now how they responded. My head turned off at this point.
I did attempt to work today – I was teaching online – but thankfully my colleague led the teach and I loitered in the background, chipping in when I could. I look at the the squares of faces on the screen – they all look so healthy. I’m envious. They are all still in one piece. We have been together as a group for the past two years – they’re almost qualified now and I burst with pride at their achievements. There are some damn fine trainee therapists looking back at me today. This is good – I need people I can trust now – I know my college role isn’t forever. I look at our students and feel safe that one day at least one of these people will take over my role and grow it – make it their own. I’ve put five years of my life into the counselling service and with the help of another very competent colleague we have really created a service to be proud of. A tear in my eye here. I’ve really missed going to work. I haven’t seen my office since 19/03 – since lock down. There’s a distinct smell in an educational setting. Schools. They all have that smell and I love it.
I think about returning to work when I am cancer clear…my eyes smiling and my ears ready to listen again. My phone ringing, my emails pinging in and out at speed, the kettle boiling, the different varieties of young people coming in and out. Trying to make sense of their feelings and reactions. I would give anything to have one more day like that. You don’t know what you have got until it’s gone. Another cancer lesson learned.
20:04…I think my sister is shocked at how rough I look. It’s injection #3 and she’s back to do it again. My husband and daughter still looking to watch and learn. I don’t want it. I know by the time she has left and driven the eight minute journey home I will feel like someone has got a crow bar, trying to gouge out my sternum.
Her cold hands as she grabs belly fat sends a surge of anxiety down my legs. This is not good. I smell too. I can smell the chemical filth over my body, my teeth and my my gums. It’s over. It doesn’t hurt. Just a slight scratch. Try as I might I cannot feel OK with this. As another redundant needle hits our makeshift sharps box (the hospital forgot to issue me with one), I go in on myself and fight the demons who are scratching at the door.
I want to go to sleep.