The thing is with chemo, it doesn't matter what the doctors tell you, it doesn't matter what I write here, no one can ever tell you how it will feel. Sure, the doctors can tell you to expect nausea, fatigue...tired. But what do those words actually mean? As someone who was reasonably fit and healthy before all this, all I can say is, the doctors have made me feel crappy. The logical side of me knows that this is all temporary and it's for the best, but that doesn't get me through the horrendous heart burn, being too tired and weak to even get myself a cup of tea or the feeling of being completely and utterly useless.
You see, as someone who has worked hard all my life to get to where I wanted to be, to suddenly feel useless takes some getting used to. I'm sure my loved ones will tell me I'm being ridiculous, but I feel pathetic. I want to get up and go for a run (one of my most loathed hobbies, might I add), I want to cook dinner, I want to have the appetite to eat my dinner. Really, I'm just feeling rather sorry for myself at the moment and that does not sit particularly easily for me. I know it's preposterous, but I feel like I'm letting my loved ones down, but more than that, I feel like I'm letting myself down.
Never in my life have I let an obstacle get in my way, each set of exams or hardships in my life was just another conundrum to be figured out and worked around. Except now, now I feel like I'm languishing in a sort of "no man's land". My career is adrift for the next few months, my life plans are at the mercy of my doctors and I feel like I'm just wishing away the next year or so of my life. I wish I could say this diagnosis has made me a better person or more positive. Perhaps in time, it might and teach me to live life to the full. But if I said that now, I'd be lying. In the deepest recesses of my mind, if I allow my mind to wander too much then there's fear, an overwhelming, crippling kind of fear that paralyses me and makes me weep. I fear for my future, my health, but most of all I fear for my loved ones. Dying is easy. It's the ones left behind that have to pick up the pieces and carry on. I worry for my husband, I worry how my parents would cope. Of course, I am not terminal and I know I'm in a far, far better position than most. But still, if I allow it, the fear creeps in.
When I was first diagnosed, my husband (still feels weird saying "husband". James and I have been together 7 years now, but only tied the knot July 2014) and I were referred to a psychologist. One of the issues identified is the worrier in me. I worried about everyone. I worried about James going on the motorway to work - even though this a journey I took myself, almost on a daily basis. But I worried about him getting into an accident, but I never once thought of myself being hurt. I worry incessantly about everyone I care about. Yet, it was me to get sick. It was me that would cause everyone to worry. Anyway, from this my psychologist wanted me to explore "mindfulness". Essentially, a way of pushing away my dark thoughts. After all, just because my mind goes to dark places, does not mean it will happen. Funnily enough, I recently saw an article in the daily mail about the "mindfulness diet". Something about being aware of what you're putting in your mouth and never having to diet again. Not sure what my psychologist would say about that really.
So here it is, if you got to the end of my rather long winded, waffly and let's face it self indulgent post; thank you. Maybe I'll even give this whole mindfulness thing a go and see if I never need to diet again - I mean change my way of thinking so I don't worry so much anymore.
Incidentally, today is Monday Cry-day. It's my first day off steroids after my FOLFOX infusion and I always find something silly to have a weep over - last week it was because the steroids were making my face puffy, this week I let the dark thoughts tumble out in a cacophony of tears and rather attractive snorting over the telephone to my poor mother. So let's the this post with a little bit of positivity, here's a rather nice car selfie, taken on my way to a genetics appointment (more on that later) and one of my beloved pooch Alfie.
My husband hates all my selfies, he thinks they're attention seeking and he seems to think I'm too social on social media. Stuff him I say! When you're feeling rubbish, a girl should capture when she looks good!
