In response to a text asking what’s up from a very dear friend of mine. I started to respond nothing. Just waiting waiting waiting. It’s killing me. I chuckled at the irony and was about to hit send, when I thought. Shit is it too soon? Too soon for humour, albeit dark. So I didn’t. But I wished I had, because she would have got it. And it’s honest. And I prefer it to the gentle pity and sadness I feel around me. Please don’t be scared of me and this thing. Or for me. I get why you are and I love you for it, but don’t be. I’m really not. I’m just annoyed I have to find a new label. I was liking the nearly 10years cancer free one. But as B said, stop labelling stuff. And he’s right, I do. I realised that as through my initial fuck my life tears I said to him, I loved that Kate and Jem were the girls whose mom had had cancer, not the girls whose mom has cancer. Really just cos I can’t stand the pity. For me, for them, for us. But I know its source. That damn fear. And I understand it. And I love you all for it. But I release you all from it. It’s killing me.
So where am I? In bed with two gorgeous dogs for company, healing and waiting for my petscan on Thursday and oncologist feedback thereafter. Waiting waiting waiting.
I have to admit I lost the plot a little yesterday. And not because the news is bad but because the news is incomplete. And how could I have forgotten. There is nothing finite about this. We can only deal with each bit of information as it presents itself with care and determination. Well yesterday was a fuck that, what does that mean kind of day. Not much dignity around. Today is a little better. So. It appears I have invasive papillary carcinoma. The word that threw me was invasive. Not what you want on your path report. Actually what you really don’t want is a path report. Anyway. My kind brilliant surgeon is quietly confident he got it all and with safe margins. And I like him. But that damn word again. Invasive. I so wish it was that’s that. Carry on juicing, being positive and eating raw food and we’ll see you next year. Oh and sorry for the divot in your armpit. Okay so maybe today isn’t really a better day. Anyway. Now it’s over to oncology. Apparently I am a little of an enigma third time round. You’re kidding right. So my case will be discussed on Tuesday at a round table with all these brilliant oncological minds and best route foreward discussed. Whilst they do that I have to have a pet scan to see if there is any indication of invasiveness. Any need for more surgery. But my kind brilliant surgeon is quietly confident there won’t be. And I like him. And his gentle positivity. So I’ll hold onto that and retreat into my cocoon for today. Safe in the knowledge once we have all opinions I will make the best decision for me. Because only I can. And that tomorrow I’ll be in a better mood.
I’m not a fool. And I know no-one thinks I am. And I am so filled with love at the courage it takes for people to reach out and be present and try fix things. You can’t. I can’t. It’s not to be fixed. It’s to be held, accepted and faced. And responded to. And that I have done and will continue to do. Please be confident in the knowledge that I have researched the hell out of this. I have pursued alternative therapies, I have eaten raw food only, I gave up sugar, juiced myself and my family until we all threw up a little in our mouths at the thought (love you for this my friend). I too have the internet and can google and be swayed by those who feed on the fear we all have within us. I get it. I really do. And I so applaud you for your chosen path. It’s just not mine. I am too conscious of the untold stories, the swept away stories of those who didn’t survive by simply healing themselves. And sadly their slavish followers. I have not chosen my approach lightly. But with wisdom and compassion and peace. It is holistic but it also encourages scientific scrutiny. And for those who feel if I had done something else maybe we wouldn’t be here right now, or that I chose this, I hear your fear. But you can keep it. And your judgement. But I’ll take your love.
I met my new cancer surgeon today. A lovely man, who has a hunch my cancer is localised. He also has a hunch its a recurrence as opposed to a new cancer hinted at by the results of the tissue biopsy. This is a good result. Apparently we like what we know. I wish he could have been a tad more scientific. That has to wait till the bugger is cut out of me in its entirety on tuesday. Then we really will know what we’re dealing with. But I have a hunch he is right.
I’ve just realised I have been quietly grieving the past 5 days. Self absorbed grief at the loss of a little of my carefreeness. And ironically it’s taken me 5 days to get through the 5 stages of loss and grief identified by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. I am quick like that. Stage 1, Denial. Denial at hearing last Wednesday that I have cancer again. Fuck that. Stage 2, Anger. That was Thursday although B would say that was Thursday through Sunday and all directed at him. Sorry angel, someone had to bear the brunt and you are my person. Mostly anger at having to hear the fear in Kate’s voice and see the fear in Jem’s eyes when I told them. Their world tilted for a moment and I knew I couldn’t say anything to right it. And that pissed me off. Stage 3, Bargaining. Or trying to regain control. Which for me quickly led to Stage 4, Depression, which was Saturday. My private control freak hell. By Sunday, stage 5, Acceptance. It is what it is. There is nothing I did or didn’t do. I am powerful, resilient and loved. And yes still so very grateful. Even if maybe a little less carefree.
So what does this mean? We don’t know yet. I thought I was 8 years cancer free but at a routine ultrasound last week, there it was. Bloody feisty bugger. And we threw everything at it. I even moved countries. Needle biopsy confirmed malignancy and tomorrow I will have a tissue biopsy to get a tighter fix on the severity of what we’re dealing with and meet with the cancer surgeon on thursday. So, now you all know too. And I will keep you posted. This reflecting aloud seems to stem the rage.