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Hello you. Is anybody out there? Sorry I have been so silent for so long; it’s been a heck of a hard eight months. That’s not to say there haven’t been some good times, some great times, times I’ve felt adventurous, happy, even peaceful. There have though, been times when I’ve thought this is just too much. Too much everything. I may have been giving this blog the silent treatment, yet in my head, I have written so many, many, times.
If any one thing had happened, gone wrong, been challenging; I would have been able to cope. Life doesn’t work that way, though, does it? One thing happens, then another, and while I get my head around those, another and another, like multiple, side by side dominos tracks; they all cascade, one by one and at the same time – bang, bang, bang.
After about the third bang…my ability to do the helpful, healthy things went out of the window. I fell of the tracks… I struggled to get back on. For a week, I managed it, then I fell off again. I picked myself up, recommitted but only for a day … and then I …gave up.
Sugar, alcohol, copious amounts of coffee, long periods of not eating, then eating crap, withdrawal, duvet days, not wanting to socialise, wanting to be on the couch with TV and the cat…all re-entered my life with a vengeance. I was no longer walking the psychologist and cancer care talk.
Except I couldn’t escape the knowing. I knew what was happening. I watched it happen. I watched everything I’d built up to support me, over the previous year since diagnosis, slip away. Despite this, somehow, I was still managing to function, to help others, to turn up at the cancer centre and be the psychologist, I knew myself to be. The cost was high. Exhaustion kicked in. Overwhelm. Then the next domino fell, and the next and another.
So, I fell off the tracks and self-care plans. I stopped walking my talk. Out went the green smoothies and in came caffeine and Pisco sours. I was in cope, any way I could, mode.
Turns out I am very, very, human after all. Who knew?
The others were a shock to me, maybe to you too.
The first set;
1. My hands stopped working.
2. Mum got cancer.
3. An internet troll joined my party.
I’m not silent anymore.
Saying goodbye to anyone you love is tough. Saying goodbye to my parents is very very tough. It hits me differently every time.I’m not a call every day girl or live close by girl and never have been; maybe this is the downside of our family’s emphasis on resilience and independence? Anyway, it just worked out like that.
My parents aren’t call every day people either. I never know what I’d say, for one thing. I always knew I’d travel, then I landed overseas and didn’t come back, except for visits.
Childhood in one country, adulthood in another.
Saying goodbye is never easy. It’s even harder when life’s curve balls keep coming.
Cancer is part of our family and my parents are super brave. Now, we are all, the diagnosed, the treated or being treated and the monitored. We are all now carers of people living with cancer. For my liking, we are far too familiar with hospitals and their machinations. Being with Mum and Dad during a small part of Mum’s big C journey, seeing her handle it with courage and honesty has been a mix of scary, reassuring, and inspiring.
Strange, how living with cancer is both normal because it’s so common yet abnormal because it demands a new normal to be created…and ultimately accepted. A new normal for carers as well as patients. Treatment disrupts lifestyles either temporarily or forever more. Scans and check ups creep into lives like tax bills; always there in the diary, we know they are coming and we don’t really want to think about them or the possibility of having to pay more. Isn’t getting cancer in the first place, enough?
Worries, thoughts, about relapse or recurrence, hover around. They are set aside for short bursts of positivity and focus on the important things, before appearing like a politician, front and centre, even if there is nothing new to say.
Saying goodbye is never easy.
Though I wouldn’t mind, if it was GOODBYE CANCER.