One year ago today I posted my first ever blog. One year ago today I came clean to the world that I had breast cancer. One year ago today I admitted – publically – that my life would never be the same again. Gosh, what a lot has happened in a year.
My hair is growing back – all of it.
My boob still looks crap – puckered.
My chemo/Tamoxifen induced menopause is bloody awful – but it’s better than the alternative.
My relationships with my family and friends are gradually returning to normal – thanks for your patience, people.
So on this World Cancer Day, a year on from the visceral hideosity I soaked up like a sponge, what do I want to say? I really don’t know.
If I were a different sort of person I might do a big thing thanking cancer now. Thanks, cancer, for showing me how much life means to me, how much my children mean to me, how much my husband means to me. Thanks, cancer, for making me well by making all my hair fall out and my stomach retch. Thanks, cancer, for carving more holes in my mental health than a cartoon mouse carves in cheese. Thanks, cancer. Or not.
No, I’m not grateful. No, I’m not one of these people who in adversity looks at the crap that’s been thrown at her, smiles, nods and says well aren’t I one of the lucky ones. No, that’s not me, not anymore. Cancer, my friends, is shit.
There’s a whole community of us, you know; I’m only just discovering it. There are thousands – millions – of people like me suffering the impact of that word. That illness, disease, affliction, complaint, sickness, ailment or disorder. That malady. That’s my favourite word for it, I like its slightly Europeaness…
After I was diagnosed a friend said to me ‘no wonder you couldn’t shake off that malaise’ and I noticed that word then – malaise – there’s a certain beauty to it. It suggests a pre-Raphaelite recline, a flaxen haired lovely on a chaise longue, a fragrant, floaty loveliness. Sadly, it didn’t suggest me, not really. No. Because there I was; mutilated, poisonous, sick.
I know this blog won’t make much sense and although I’m desperate to apologise (I can’t bear it if people don’t like my writing) I’m going to try not to. I’m going to try to be one of those unapologetic people for a bit… hang on… nope… that’s not happening. Sorry.
So what’s my point?
I wish I bloody knew.
Fact is, one year on I still don’t understand this thing I’ve been through – am going through. It’s the word – the word! – it means death. No matter how much we fight, how much we battle, how much we crusade against this tide of malevolence, nothing will change. It will still come for us, for me. At least this is what I assume. Next time I don’t know how I’ll fight it. I didn’t fight it this time, I just did what I was told and got lucky.
So, on this World Cancer Day, on this anniversary of the blog that might well have saved my life on several occasions, what exactly is it that I want to say?
I want to say that being diagnosed with cancer might not be a death sentence – but it will feel like it. I want to say that being diagnosed with cancer is something you hope will never happen to you – but it might. I want to say that in the future being diagnosed with cancer is something that will happen to more and more and more of us and that we have to come together to make this thing go away. We must fight, battle, crusade and campaign. We must research, investigate, examine and explore. We must combine and work something – anything – out. We cannot let this beat us. We must unite.
#wewillunite
https://twitter.com/Baldybitesback
My hair is growing back – all of it.
My boob still looks crap – puckered.
My chemo/Tamoxifen induced menopause is bloody awful – but it’s better than the alternative.
My relationships with my family and friends are gradually returning to normal – thanks for your patience, people.
So on this World Cancer Day, a year on from the visceral hideosity I soaked up like a sponge, what do I want to say? I really don’t know.
If I were a different sort of person I might do a big thing thanking cancer now. Thanks, cancer, for showing me how much life means to me, how much my children mean to me, how much my husband means to me. Thanks, cancer, for making me well by making all my hair fall out and my stomach retch. Thanks, cancer, for carving more holes in my mental health than a cartoon mouse carves in cheese. Thanks, cancer. Or not.
No, I’m not grateful. No, I’m not one of these people who in adversity looks at the crap that’s been thrown at her, smiles, nods and says well aren’t I one of the lucky ones. No, that’s not me, not anymore. Cancer, my friends, is shit.
There’s a whole community of us, you know; I’m only just discovering it. There are thousands – millions – of people like me suffering the impact of that word. That illness, disease, affliction, complaint, sickness, ailment or disorder. That malady. That’s my favourite word for it, I like its slightly Europeaness…
After I was diagnosed a friend said to me ‘no wonder you couldn’t shake off that malaise’ and I noticed that word then – malaise – there’s a certain beauty to it. It suggests a pre-Raphaelite recline, a flaxen haired lovely on a chaise longue, a fragrant, floaty loveliness. Sadly, it didn’t suggest me, not really. No. Because there I was; mutilated, poisonous, sick.
I know this blog won’t make much sense and although I’m desperate to apologise (I can’t bear it if people don’t like my writing) I’m going to try not to. I’m going to try to be one of those unapologetic people for a bit… hang on… nope… that’s not happening. Sorry.
So what’s my point?
I wish I bloody knew.
Fact is, one year on I still don’t understand this thing I’ve been through – am going through. It’s the word – the word! – it means death. No matter how much we fight, how much we battle, how much we crusade against this tide of malevolence, nothing will change. It will still come for us, for me. At least this is what I assume. Next time I don’t know how I’ll fight it. I didn’t fight it this time, I just did what I was told and got lucky.
So, on this World Cancer Day, on this anniversary of the blog that might well have saved my life on several occasions, what exactly is it that I want to say?
I want to say that being diagnosed with cancer might not be a death sentence – but it will feel like it. I want to say that being diagnosed with cancer is something you hope will never happen to you – but it might. I want to say that in the future being diagnosed with cancer is something that will happen to more and more and more of us and that we have to come together to make this thing go away. We must fight, battle, crusade and campaign. We must research, investigate, examine and explore. We must combine and work something – anything – out. We cannot let this beat us. We must unite.
#wewillunite
https://twitter.com/Baldybitesback