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
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Saying Goodbye
Saying Goodbye
So how does a mother say goodbye to her children? How do I communicate my love, my joy and the fact that I really do always want to be there to my children? I have been thinking about this all week, about how to start.
I have started boxes. The girls call them the 'depressing boxes' and they contain letters, photographs, poems, cards, pictures and drawings that they have made through the years. I am a hoarder: I can't throw anything away at all. What a blessing all that clutter is! I haven't been able to approach the letter writing though. That all seems unnecessary at the moment although when I am with them, I find that I am mentally squirrelling memories away ready to draw out of my pocket for my daughters.
I can tell the news is really sinking into my psyche now for I no longer cry when I think of myself going and my children being left alone. I am, of course, still scared, still terrified of their future without a mother, a future without me but I can also look forward and start finding those arms of others who will comfort them when they need a hug, whose ears will soak up stress, whose fingers will wipe away tears.
Mortality is frightening and, to be honest, I have always been afraid of dying and whatever death holds. As a teenager, I used to wake up crying, feeling the coffin around my body and imagining what wood would feel like against my skin. I would terrify myself so much I had to sleep with the light on, or even just read, late into the night rather than face the fear.
So this tussle with death is actually almost a good thing. It is forcing me to face my deepest darkest fear of all, and with that the terror of not seeing my children grow up. Beside that fear, death itself has become just a niggle, a bit of stress around the edges.
Strange how once faced with a terminal diagnosis, people are ready to discuss issues like death and mortality which normally they shy away from as one of the ultimate taboos. I can freely express my fears and my worries to those around me and they take it all, they listen and they reply in freedom. For that, I thank you all. It helps me so much to talk about it, to prepare for my passing and to make sure that the three most important people in my life will be well loved, supported and cared for.
Of course, that is only once I am gone and this lady ain't going nowhere for quite a while...
Minerva
So how does a mother say goodbye to her children? How do I communicate my love, my joy and the fact that I really do always want to be there to my children? I have been thinking about this all week, about how to start.
I have started boxes. The girls call them the 'depressing boxes' and they contain letters, photographs, poems, cards, pictures and drawings that they have made through the years. I am a hoarder: I can't throw anything away at all. What a blessing all that clutter is! I haven't been able to approach the letter writing though. That all seems unnecessary at the moment although when I am with them, I find that I am mentally squirrelling memories away ready to draw out of my pocket for my daughters.
I can tell the news is really sinking into my psyche now for I no longer cry when I think of myself going and my children being left alone. I am, of course, still scared, still terrified of their future without a mother, a future without me but I can also look forward and start finding those arms of others who will comfort them when they need a hug, whose ears will soak up stress, whose fingers will wipe away tears.
Mortality is frightening and, to be honest, I have always been afraid of dying and whatever death holds. As a teenager, I used to wake up crying, feeling the coffin around my body and imagining what wood would feel like against my skin. I would terrify myself so much I had to sleep with the light on, or even just read, late into the night rather than face the fear.
So this tussle with death is actually almost a good thing. It is forcing me to face my deepest darkest fear of all, and with that the terror of not seeing my children grow up. Beside that fear, death itself has become just a niggle, a bit of stress around the edges.
Strange how once faced with a terminal diagnosis, people are ready to discuss issues like death and mortality which normally they shy away from as one of the ultimate taboos. I can freely express my fears and my worries to those around me and they take it all, they listen and they reply in freedom. For that, I thank you all. It helps me so much to talk about it, to prepare for my passing and to make sure that the three most important people in my life will be well loved, supported and cared for.
Of course, that is only once I am gone and this lady ain't going nowhere for quite a while...
Minerva
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Enough is Enough.
Enough
Enough is enough. I have had it. The results of the ultrasound scan are through. They put the needle in my lymph nodes four times to find cells to analyse and the results are back. No cancerous cells at all and the nodes looked normal on ultrasound. Now that doesn't mean it isn't there, but it does mean that it isn't growing exponentially, that it hasn't become a discernible tumour yet, and that I have hope. Not just a tiny crack of hope that squeezes its way through a chink in the cancer nightmare, but a huge glaring beam of it.
I am resolute and determined. Tomorrow I start a new regime. Green tea, salads, and exercise are going to be my new watch words. I am ready, ready to fight with all my being because I have had enough. I realised something today. No one is going to do this for me, no drug, no person, no doctor. The only thing that I have, the greatest thing I have is determination and anger. I have the fight of my life, for my life on my hands and this woman, this woman over here isn't going to take it lying down. I am going to do all I can to create a hostile environment for those little cancer cells.
You see, it seems to me that if they haven't grown yet, that I have a chance. That I visualise the cancer cells as burrs in my lymph nodes. As the nodes are the sewers of the body picking up all the detritus, those parasite cancer cells are simply sticking to the insides so I am determined to do all I can to make my body as uninviting as possible.
My smoothie for the morning is in the fridge, my salad full of healthy vegetables is in the tupperware ready to take to school and my tracksuit and tee shirt is ready for use. I cannot control cancer, I cannot control the future, but, by God, I can control the choices I make, and right now, right here I make the decision to fight with all I have, all I hold dear and with all the determination and sureness that I can muster.
I do recognise that I may not win. That maybe this enemy will beat me. That cancer has taken so many and all the studies show that it can't be controlled by food, by drink or exercise. That there is no way that I can be blamed for what I have or that I should regret my past. But that doesn't mean that this woman is going to roll over and play dead. Uncertainty is difficult but it is also wonderful. Wonderful because no one actually knows how long I have or what kind of life I have in front of me. A secondary cancer diagnosis does not mean depression, desolation or death. At least, not yet...
So come on Cancer, show me what you have because this here woman is ready with her axes, her spears and her cudgels of anger, determination and hope to fight with all she has.
I may have a disease, but I won't be a victim.
Minerva
Enough is enough. I have had it. The results of the ultrasound scan are through. They put the needle in my lymph nodes four times to find cells to analyse and the results are back. No cancerous cells at all and the nodes looked normal on ultrasound. Now that doesn't mean it isn't there, but it does mean that it isn't growing exponentially, that it hasn't become a discernible tumour yet, and that I have hope. Not just a tiny crack of hope that squeezes its way through a chink in the cancer nightmare, but a huge glaring beam of it.
I am resolute and determined. Tomorrow I start a new regime. Green tea, salads, and exercise are going to be my new watch words. I am ready, ready to fight with all my being because I have had enough. I realised something today. No one is going to do this for me, no drug, no person, no doctor. The only thing that I have, the greatest thing I have is determination and anger. I have the fight of my life, for my life on my hands and this woman, this woman over here isn't going to take it lying down. I am going to do all I can to create a hostile environment for those little cancer cells.
You see, it seems to me that if they haven't grown yet, that I have a chance. That I visualise the cancer cells as burrs in my lymph nodes. As the nodes are the sewers of the body picking up all the detritus, those parasite cancer cells are simply sticking to the insides so I am determined to do all I can to make my body as uninviting as possible.
My smoothie for the morning is in the fridge, my salad full of healthy vegetables is in the tupperware ready to take to school and my tracksuit and tee shirt is ready for use. I cannot control cancer, I cannot control the future, but, by God, I can control the choices I make, and right now, right here I make the decision to fight with all I have, all I hold dear and with all the determination and sureness that I can muster.
I do recognise that I may not win. That maybe this enemy will beat me. That cancer has taken so many and all the studies show that it can't be controlled by food, by drink or exercise. That there is no way that I can be blamed for what I have or that I should regret my past. But that doesn't mean that this woman is going to roll over and play dead. Uncertainty is difficult but it is also wonderful. Wonderful because no one actually knows how long I have or what kind of life I have in front of me. A secondary cancer diagnosis does not mean depression, desolation or death. At least, not yet...
So come on Cancer, show me what you have because this here woman is ready with her axes, her spears and her cudgels of anger, determination and hope to fight with all she has.
I may have a disease, but I won't be a victim.
Minerva
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Thank you
Thank You
Thank you to everyone who has been so wonderful to me over the past 10 days. I have been so low... Of that, more later, but for now, a new friend has sent me the following and I can't tell you how much it has helped me...
Minerva
Daily Survival Guide by Thomas L. McDermitt a long-time cancer patient and skeptic
Today I am going to try to live through this day only, and not dwell on or attempt to solve all my problems at once. Just focus on the piece that is today. I can do something for several hours that would be difficult to even think about continuing for several months.
Just for today, I am willing to accept the possibility that there is a purpose to this suffering; that it can be a source of meaning and growth for myself and others, though I may not always recognize the ways. And it seems possible that this suffering will not be in vain, because of what may be some kind of existence beyond.
Just for today,let me remind myself that I am basically a worthwhile person, worth loving, despite my faults and limits. I deserve the efforts of others to help me through my illness.Just for today, I want to be aware that it is all right to want too much from others at times. Illness brings out and intensifies the small child in all of us. And if I feel hurt when those who care for me can not be there, it may help to remember that they have needs, frailities, and limitations of their own. A lack of response does not mean that they are personally rejecting me.
Today I may feel the need to complain a great deal. I may have little tolerance. I may cry. I may scream. That does not mean that I am less courageous or strong. All are ways of expressing anger over this mess, of rightly mourning my losses. Endurance itself is courage.It is my life at stake now. So maybe today I can allow myself to be a little less concerned about the reactions or impressions of others. Maybe I can allow myself to feel a little less guilty or bad about what I did not accomplish or give.
Perhaps today I can be a little more gentle toward myself.Surviving this is all so difficult. At times it seems impossible - that I have had enough. Down the line I will know if and when I have had enough, when I cannot push the limits any further. I will have the right to choose to stop, without feeling that I am "giving up". But today I think I can deal with this illness.
Just for today, maybe I can give healing "the benefit of the doubt". The drugs are powerful; the natural healing capacity of my body is powerful. And who knows, perhaps there is healing power in my will to struggle, and in the collective love and will of others.
Just for today, perhaps I can take heart that we are all connected. And Imay still have some things left to contribute to the family of man;some light to add to the light. Even now my endurance (however imperfect) is a gift, an inspiration for others in their struggle.It seems reasonable that there is a season for everything, and a time for every purpose. Pain, weakness, and exhaustion may distort my senses and spirit.
Today, however, I can at least find some hope in nature's way, if not in some master plan. The chances are fairly good, and it seems worthwhile to hope that I will have some cycle of wellness yet.
Thank you to everyone who has been so wonderful to me over the past 10 days. I have been so low... Of that, more later, but for now, a new friend has sent me the following and I can't tell you how much it has helped me...
Minerva
Daily Survival Guide by Thomas L. McDermitt a long-time cancer patient and skeptic
Today I am going to try to live through this day only, and not dwell on or attempt to solve all my problems at once. Just focus on the piece that is today. I can do something for several hours that would be difficult to even think about continuing for several months.
Just for today, I am willing to accept the possibility that there is a purpose to this suffering; that it can be a source of meaning and growth for myself and others, though I may not always recognize the ways. And it seems possible that this suffering will not be in vain, because of what may be some kind of existence beyond.
Just for today,let me remind myself that I am basically a worthwhile person, worth loving, despite my faults and limits. I deserve the efforts of others to help me through my illness.Just for today, I want to be aware that it is all right to want too much from others at times. Illness brings out and intensifies the small child in all of us. And if I feel hurt when those who care for me can not be there, it may help to remember that they have needs, frailities, and limitations of their own. A lack of response does not mean that they are personally rejecting me.
Today I may feel the need to complain a great deal. I may have little tolerance. I may cry. I may scream. That does not mean that I am less courageous or strong. All are ways of expressing anger over this mess, of rightly mourning my losses. Endurance itself is courage.It is my life at stake now. So maybe today I can allow myself to be a little less concerned about the reactions or impressions of others. Maybe I can allow myself to feel a little less guilty or bad about what I did not accomplish or give.
Perhaps today I can be a little more gentle toward myself.Surviving this is all so difficult. At times it seems impossible - that I have had enough. Down the line I will know if and when I have had enough, when I cannot push the limits any further. I will have the right to choose to stop, without feeling that I am "giving up". But today I think I can deal with this illness.
Just for today, maybe I can give healing "the benefit of the doubt". The drugs are powerful; the natural healing capacity of my body is powerful. And who knows, perhaps there is healing power in my will to struggle, and in the collective love and will of others.
Just for today, perhaps I can take heart that we are all connected. And Imay still have some things left to contribute to the family of man;some light to add to the light. Even now my endurance (however imperfect) is a gift, an inspiration for others in their struggle.It seems reasonable that there is a season for everything, and a time for every purpose. Pain, weakness, and exhaustion may distort my senses and spirit.
Today, however, I can at least find some hope in nature's way, if not in some master plan. The chances are fairly good, and it seems worthwhile to hope that I will have some cycle of wellness yet.
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