It appears living with no obvious cancer in my body is the same as living with it. I am anxious, scared and feel pain everywhere. I have spent the last 6 days convincing myself I have it in my brain. It has travelled up there somehow, and all the lymph nodes and tests have missed the sneaky little bastard on it’s journey. This cancer is out to end me and every part of my body sniffs for the evidence. And boy do I find it. It started when the most horrific swirl of dizziness hit my head when I was counselling online. How I kept my head still on the video call I do not know. I felt like the poltergeist image from the Steven Spielberg film – my head was turning around at speed, sending my senses spiralling into each other. I couldn’t see – but the whole thing probably lasted about 5 seconds but left me feeling nauseous and weak for the rest of my day. Luckily this was my last client and I worked really hard at staying present and ignoring the worry that was gallivanting into my thinking at great speed. It was horrible. I felt so awful, shaky even.
Then came the sore throat – hard to describe. It felt like my glands were up and pumping away to a beat I could not hear. I felt my throat and it hurt. Inside and out. Like I had slept at an angle in the night. I put these two things together and got brain cancer. So, off I go on Google, trying to find the evidence to prove myself wrong so I can stop acting this way and get a bloody grip. I don’t find the evidence I want. I find information that keeps me searching for more as I then sprout dozens of ‘what ifs’ from my original search. Hours pass by. I hide what I am doing from my family and move from room to room to avoid their glances. I have gone quiet. Very quiet. And this is the sign to my husband that there is something wrong with me. He has seen many cancer silences since diagnosis. But I lie and with an assertive tone gently advise him I am fine and he needs to get out of my face. I see the worry in his eyes, but mine are full of fear. I have brain cancer and I need to get my thinking straight so I can phone the Oncologist with my concerns and demand an MRI scan.
This all culminates on a Friday so I brace myself for an anxiety rich weekend waiting for Monday when I can ring his secretary and demand an appointment.
Thankfully, I calm myself over the weekend, despite still feeling an array of weird and worrying sensations. I have pins and needles in my hands. My left elbow aches like mad and I can’t straighten it out completely. My lower back sings halleluiah with pain and tightness. I can’t stand up properly without pain shooting down each thigh muscle. I will end there before you stop reading. I am boring myself with this let me tell you so I apologise for throwing this at you too. But it is my real right now. I am not imagining any of this and I try bloody hard to sanitise my worry with ‘it’s chemo late effects’ kicking in. I lay on the sofa picking the test results out of the last 210 days. I can’t find anything to suggest I have brain cancer. I can find a lot to suggest my breast cancer has been treated well and right now, you’d be hard pushed to find a rogue cell setting up camp for the next diagnosis. It is at this point I go and get changed into my leggings, vest and put on my trainers. I want to feel fresh air and break this vicious cruel cycle of thinking I have enveloped myself in for days. I run it out. I am not back to my speed or lung capacity yet, but I am getting fitter, and the space running allows me is priceless. I can’t get this feeling anywhere else. I pound the dirty roads around my village and set my sights on looking at every bird that flies in my path. There are dozens and each one of them has no clue how taking in their flight lifts my low mood. I smile. The smell of cow s*** makes me smile and I splash into puddle after puddle until my trainers are no longer recognisable. The earth soaks up my energy and it’s here I no longer worry about it getting to my brain. It is here, on this run, I accept it might come back and kill me, but I now accept it might not and I might live as long as anyone else. I have made peace with my anxiety and visualise myself throwing it out of my mind into a passing field full of sheep and baby lambs. New life there and new life at the sides of the roads with the fresh green shoots soon to become daffodils and crocuses. I love seeing life and I love my life. Cancer and it’s crushing thoughts and fears try and take that away from me.
It’s later that night when I sit, with the log burner sharing it’s warmth, contrasting with the cold glass of white wine in my hand that I make a promise to myself. I promise myself that when these sensations arise and whip up the dark thinking in my mind, I won’t go on Google ever again. I will sit and think my way out of it. I don’t know if this tactic will prove to be helpful, but I will try. I need to write more too. I am being pulled in two different directions. One side of me wants to put cancer behind me, delete my blog and get on with my life. The other part of me wants to do more, write more, help more, change something and be there with others going through this. I always say to my clients if you don’t know what to do – do nothing. So I bring that quote into my mind and play around with it for a few moments. From these embers of my thoughts comes another stirring. Write that book you always said you would.