Real Life

Real Life

Real life has trampled on any idea of mine of luxuriating in my secondary status. No, it has elbowed any thoughts of immuring myself in a cancer bubble bath for the moment. Books need marking, eldest daughter has has friends over for the weekend, and the daily jobs are just piling up. Worries about what to buy twin 1, 2 and Eldest daughter for Christmas have completely elbowed all thoughts of cancer and premature life spans out of the way.

Frankly, thank goodness! We cancer victims forget that other people's lives and worries are just as valid as our own sometimes. I still meet people who had their run in with cancer years ago and are still just as preoccupied by their damoclean sword as those who only have six months to live. What utter rubbish! Preoccupied by what might be, we completely ignore everything that is around us. That watery sunshine which streams through the trees, the feel of a chill wind on the skin, the giggle of a child when tickled, those are the true treasures of our lives.

As you can probably tell the ostrich routine is working a treat. The sand doesn't get in my eyes that much and the heat from the earth's core, I find warming not a bother at all. I can't, to be honest, be bothered to think about the whole cancer question at the moment. My next PET scan is on the 12th of December and the results on the 21st, just before Christmas. ''Great timing!'' say my friends and family, but actually, for some strange reason that doesn't bother me at all. I mean, what could they say? Whatever happens, Christmas will still continue, my children are still going to come over and the boyfriend too. My family will still gather together (all being well ) and nothing on the 21st will come as a complete surprise. What will be, will be.

Options are closing though, closing in a way that they do for people much older than me. Because of the arthritis that I am suffering in my hips and knees, I know I won't ski again. That saddens me a little because I loved the freedom and the sheer exhileration of one's body working in a rhythm down those slopes. I can't run any longer and more often my co-ordination seems to let me down. I fell down some steps the other day and because my hands were in my coat pockets, I couldn't break my fall. It was in front of some of the boys from school and another member of staff and I felt such an idiot.

I can no longer put things off either. I have always wanted to write this book, and whilst I still haven't got it clear in my mind, I know I need to start it soon. Time is fleeing past and I need to hurry whilst it is still passing as opposed to shouting after it once gone. But for now, back to the cacophany of Christmas, of buying, wrapping, decorating and loving. After that, all is possible!

Minerva