I am grateful for the cup of tea Kate made me tonight. Not because it was tea, and not because I think I deserved it being the wonderful, never hung over, attentive mom that I am. But because I never asked. ‘Mum, (they say mum now, not mom, cos then they’ll be weird here where moms are mums), would you like a cup of tea?’ Sweet.
Being with heaps of South Africans last night made me think. Everyone knows I never wanted to come here and only did so because I was too scared not too. Scared of being the one not brave enough to embrace the adventure. And because I had no fight left in me. And because B believed so much in it. And only on the proviso that I could and believe you me, would, be going home in two years time. On the 15 may 2012 we will have been here for 4 years. Well, the girls and I, B will have been here for 4 years and 9 months but that’s another story. I am not sure when being here became easier than not being here. I think it was the realisation after many trips home that even though my heart will always be in Africa life there is moving on without us. And our life is moving on here. There truly is no going back, and I don’t mean geographically. So now I feel a bit like I don’t really belong anywhere. But then as Ilona and I realised last night, I actually belong in both places. And even better I’ve realised I simply belong. Less attachment. My world has expanded. How cool is that. Not sure how significant this is, but on 15 January 2012, 42 months since we left South Africa, I put my mac to oz time.
I am very grateful today that the brand B created has a black and white logo. I am grateful because it is youi‘s annual party tonight and the theme is black and white, I am hungover from last night and my wardrobe consists of only black. With a little white. And maybe a few touches of beige. And some grey melange. Love that word. But mostly black.
Today I realised I have 26 books that need covering for back to school on Monday. I am feeling a bit iffy today which might explain why I am so grateful for typo. They have books that are perfect for school and don’t need covering. Well, perfect for secondary. But I am grateful I only had to cover 13 books today.
B’s got this thing he wants me to do, which will be cool, but is a bit challenging. I’ll need to put myself out there a little, at least for him to judge. So, I did, what I do, I made lasagne. Just like when I need to pay bills, sort out our finances, do the filing. I make lasagne. If I need to pack for a trip, tidy a cupboard, write a reference I make lasagne. Obviously lasagne is a euphemism for doing anything but what I am supposed to be doing. Which often is, make lasagne. And if the thing is a little bit confronting, I’ll probably make enough lasagne for the school canteen. If we had one. I sort of knew I did this, but I didn’t know anyone else knew, except Mel, cos I told her. But I realised B is onto me when I proudly told him I’d made lasagne for dinner. His response, if he ever feels like lasagne, he’ll just ask me to put myself out there.
A thing of beauty. B’s words, not mine, on seeing a full drawer of Nespresso pods this morning. He is right, it is a thing of beauty. I am grateful today not only for the full drawer, the wonderful aroma, the best coffee at the touch of a button, the no mess but mostly for the moments to come.
As many of my friends know I do not shy away from talking about my cancer, showing my scars, my man made breast, or sharing my ongoing treatment. I honestly believe fear is our greatest enemy, and if someone, anyone can take comfort in my oversharing, then it’s worth it. There is hope. There is no need to be fearful. But, it is lonely. No-one as much as they try can understand the feeling of utter dread the first time cancer and your name appear together in print. If it’s written down it can’t be removed kind of thing. No-one can take away the fear, only you. Who knows what the ultimate outcome will be. What will be, will be, but every single day, put your best foot forward, embrace life and do what is required. Share and talk and laugh and cry, just don’t hide. Fear will win, if you let it in.
So ….where I am now in my treatment? I had my mastectomy on 18 June 2007 (our 13th wedding anniversay, how funny is that?), I had my last chemo session on 3 January 2008 and my breast reconstruction on 14 February 2008 (valentine’s day, how funny is that?) My cancer was stage 111, recurrent, aggressive and on the move, so with no intervention the likelihood of me being here in 5 years time was significantly affected. The goal is being here 5 years after treatment. 5 years. Hilarious. Shit. My 5 years is next January. My cancer is estrogen receptive which means cancer cells accelerate in growth when they encounter estrogen. Clearly it’s best if there is no estrogen around. Today I had my sixteenth zoladex implant, which is a slow release pellet that is implanted into my stomach every 3 months with a very fat needle, it’s main function being to put and keep me in menopause. Because the ovaries are not the only source of estrogen, our adrenal glands are also culprits, I am also on Femara, an aromatase inhibitor, a tablet I take daily, which blocks this. The worst side effect of all of this for me, as B and the girls will attest to, is a firey disposition. If anyone snorted at this point, implying what’s different, piss off. Okay, I’m just damn moody, and very quick to ignite. But luckily there’s a pill for that too. I know many believe the power is within and not to rely on all this stuff. I do too. I have come to understand how strong I am, and how much I can and we all can handle. But I also know I have too much to lose.
I am most grateful for my angel of mercy today. She is shy and kind and quietly looks after people as she takes their blood for various sinister or not reasons. She is a phlebotomist as I recently learned. Par excellence. My veins hardened due to the poison passing through them during my eight months of chemo. From being ok having my blood taken I have become anxiety-ridden at the thought. Due to the agony I experience every time as my veins are poked around in, often to no avail. But this sweet angel gets it every time. And gets me.
Today was the first time I heard Kate swear. Hilarious I know considering her mother’s favourite adjective is fucking. As in that dress is fucking nice. No prizes for guessing why she felt the need. Her first relationship. As in this is crap. I am writing it here because it is burning up inside me and I just can’t say it to her … so here goes … I told you so. Whilst I love being right this is one time I wish I wasn’t. It is so hard watching the emotions flit across her face as her childish expectations of how others should behave are shattered one by one. Just when I thought what do I do if it all ends and she crumbles, she sighed, put down her mobile and said this is crap. As in, I just can’t be bothered with this. Hard to disagree with her. It is crap. But as she keeps reminding me, it’s her crap and she has to experience it. I promise I am letting go. But I did manage to dictate a few responses for her first.
I am grateful for my daughter’s friendship with my friend’s son. He brings such a fabulous energy into our home every time he visits. He is kind, cheeky, charming, challenging and fun. He has such enthusiasm for life that it is truly infectious. The girls and I all become a lot lighter and a lot more fun when he is around. He had us at hello.
grace and dignity 