Stop the ride I want to get off...

Monday, November 02, 2015

When your brain goes on a ride of it's own making...

When they told me my cancer was back I had six nights to vegetate over the matter. I can tell you from my experience, five times now, that this can be the worst part of having cancer. You know that you have this thing growing inside you, you know nothing else, not even if they have options. You get sent home and told that someone will contact you with your next appointment.
This time I walked out of the hospital utterly dazed, everything was swirling about in my head and every now and then over the next six days something would leap into focus and slam into me. None of it was very positive…
First off, my kids, my poor babies. I don’t care if they are twenty one and nineteen, they do not deserve to have to go through this again. George has been doing this since he was four, each time I watch him act so brave and nonchalant, yet I notice him coming to sit with me to watch TV more often. He comes up with reasons to have a chat. Amy, poor sod, is two hours away in Cardiff trying to finish her final year of Uni and dealing with depression. Good job mum, great way to help her with that.
Then my brain decided to think about the “what ifs”… mainly what if the treatments doesn't work and I die? At this point my brain lost the plot, I know this because, it suggested that I should tidy my bedroom, sort out the garage, and clean up the craft room. It started to talk about making lists, of who gets what, basically my brain decided to run off screaming and yelling, waving it’s neurons in the air in full on panic mode. We can’t possibly die without making the house all neat and tidy, and ensuring all our affairs are in order, it informed me.
My logical side, tried to point out that all this stuff needs to be done at some point, and I could spend years putting it off and putting it off, until I'm too ill to deal with it. Better to sort myself out, so that I can then sit back and concentrate on the important stuff… LIVING… SURVIVING… and through all that ENJOYING life. Otherwise, what’s the point of putting myself through all these treatments, making myself feel ill, so that we can beat back the invaders.
These were some very dark days, I sobbed silently in my room, so as not to upset George. Paul, my hubby, refused to even talk about any bad stuff. Which really pissed me off, if I can’t talk to him who can I talk to? This seems to be a common theme with people, they fall into two groups, those who understand that I need to verbalise my own fears and those who just don’t want to hear it. They say “You mustn't talk like that, you can’t think like that.”  But let’s be honest, we are all going to die and the older we get the more we need to think about this stuff.
Monday morning, I had one of my epiphany moments, and I kicked my brain into gear. It feels like someone just flips a switch inside your head and you know how to deal with this stuff life is throwing at you. I considered the odds, I pondered that if I can get the ten years I’d be 57, kids would be settled by then, that’s not so bad. Then I thought about twenty years, 67, actually not that terrible, not that long ago it was considered old. Of course, the longer I can beat back the invaders the more likely they are to find some better treatments and add another ten years, that’s 77.
But my practical self also pointed out, that there’s nothing wrong with doing a bit of sorting out, making sure things are shipshape and in order. I've watched friends struggle with relative’s estates when the relative hadn't bothered to think about death. It’s not pretty and it makes what should be a time to think about the person you've lost, and remember the good times, a stressful nightmare.
So I've tidied the garage, I know it won’t last, but at least I’m going into chemo with floor space in the garage. I've sorted out my bedroom drawers, well nearly all of them, I've avoided THAT drawer. You know the one, which you drop stuff in because it might be useful, or you might need to look at it sometime in the future. To get the craft room clear, I realized that I have one thing on my bucket list that will be perfect for passing the time as I stay away from crowds and germs on chemo. I am going to build a dollshouse, from a kit. It was meant to be, when I went hunting for a kit I found one that looks exactly like my Grandparent's house. Somewhere I made some of my best memories.

Now I'm sat editing this post in a luxurious hotel room, after a day spent shopping with Amy in Cardiff. I'm having a mini holiday before chemo starts on Friday. I will drive home on Wednesday afternoon, then go for blood test Thursday, ready to go to the hospital on Friday. The next time I post will be after I've had chemo, and the countdown will have begun, twelve doses, provided they've picked the right drug. Cross everything, and let’s hope the anti-sickness drugs work as well as they always have for me. I wonder if my hair will survive this time…


Blogger Jaye Norton said...

And I'll be your cheerleader, distractor, and (virtual) shoulder to lean/cry on. Hugs

12:25 am  
Blogger fotoldy said...

Prayers and hugs

12:57 am  
Anonymous gail v said...

Oh your near me today. Take care xxx

6:55 pm  
Anonymous pamelap said...

Just caught up with all this. I hope this chemo works, I hope you don't have sickness, I hope the side effects are minimal or absent, I hope it doesn't make you feel more ill than you actually feel right now before it starts (forlorn hope I know).

Every time they press my liver, I will now be thinking of you.

It makes me even crosser with the "all clear" nonsense.

12:30 am  

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