It’s been a month since my last chemo and four short months since my life was thrown into disarray. I’m not sure if the fact that unless I have to I’m not making it out of bed before 11am has everything to do with my body healing from the onslaught that has just been or my mind refusing to deal with my new reality. I am good and positive and so very grateful and my smiles are real but I am struggling a tad. I started taking the Aromasin, despite really resisting it because of the side effects and because, denial. It’s prescribed for advanced breast cancer in post menopausal women. Me. I lied in my earlier post about getting through the grief at losing who I was and having to accept who I really was and am. Well not really because it was a subtle tongue in cheek post and a huge cry for help. And I know I’m not defined by this but it’s my now moment. Then for some macabre reason last week I purchased a book called Without my mum. You got it, the mom dies of cancer at fifty or thereabouts and the woman has to deal with the reality of being a motherless mother. I don’t like that description. And not only because of what it means. It’s just horrid. Could be other ways of saying the same. A motherless mother. Clearly I’m not wishing that on my girls. I mean really how would they cope. That was meant to be funny. So I took my damn tablet. And will for the next 5 years at least. I could simply exercise even more, sprinkle more turmeric, imagine my cancer leaving my body and hope for the best. Or I can be an even more active participant in what is and what will be. So I’ll do both. The only problem is I have to find a way to get out of bed earlier first.