And so I’ve hit the half way mark. Three cycles of chemo down, three more to go. I’m sitting on the top of the mountain, catching my breath and hoping the descent will feel a whole lot easier than the climb. I’m doing well, according to my wonderful oncologist. The chemo is doing what it’s supposed to do and I can see the visible proof. I’m saying ‘thank you’ quietly a thousand times a day.
Still got my hair. Yay. Well, most of it. This is a very nice, much appreciated bonus. It’s shedding but slowly and I’m just hoping and praying that I don’t wake one morning looking like Bill Bailey – shiny scalp and long straggly ends. Sorry Bill – you wear it well but I just know I couldn’t carry it off.
And yes, we’ve fallen fairly comfortably into our new routine. My amazing four seem to have adjusted to mummy’s good and bad days without too much upset and the usual band of angels in my life are rallying around as I knew they would. I feel blessed. Knackered but blessed.
Something else is different too, this time round. Something completely unexpected but rather wonderful. There’s a hand holding mine in the chemo ward. There’s someone making me giggle uncontrollably as the hideous cold cap is being suctioned onto my head and I feel like I want to be sick, cry and scream all at once.
Chemotherapy and laughter were alien last time round. It was the loneliest feeling in the world. I’ve laughed more in the last three months than in the last decade. Who would have thought it? Definitely not me…
I’ve never had a rock before. Always cringed slightly at the word. Jealousy probably, or maybe more a feeling of not being able to relate at all to the idea of being able to lean into someone and exhale. I’ve had, I’ve got other rocks, plenty of them. A super sister shaped rock, a giant dad rock that’s more like a boulder and more huge, shiny, rock like friends than one woman deserves. But this particular type of rock is a first. And it’s making everything better.
We don’t talk much about cancer. He doesn’t think of me as ill and therefore I don’t think of me as ill. Best approach, don’t you think? Sitting in our corner of the chemo ward eating maltesers and making plans is actually a pretty pleasant way to pass the time.
There’s no doubt about it, cancer is rubbish but it could be worse, a whole lot worse and hey, spring is in the air. I plan to have a good spring. Let’s all have a good spring. We deserve it, don’t you think?
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