writersam

I have been feeling a bit sad today, just one of those low days really. I’ve been feeling a little more like that more often recently, while finding it difficult to explain. One explanation went something like:

“What’s wrong?” “I was just looking at my drain sites and remembering that I used to have drains in, and it made me sad.”

i mean, doesn’t that sound a bit silly? I am sad because I am remembering something. I am sad for no reason other than I am thinking about something that happened in the past, and that isn’t happening anymore. I think it felt silly to me because it seems pointless to go over things in my head for no reason, and because in the context of what has happened, some of the things that have happened seem trivial. I suppose it is the idea that now that cancer is gone I should be happy. But of course I know it doesn’t work like that. I know that.

i had to have a friend remind me today that it’s actually okay to be sad. And I realised that what is probably going on is grief. Just because something isn’t happening right now doesn’t mean we can’t be sad about it. And when there are daily reminders about it all over the place, it’s unreasonable for us to expect ourselves to just get over cancer, or any other illness.

It’s not like I feel grief for my organs. “Oh, the head of my pancreas, I loved him so, and I miss him dearly. Why must he have been decapitated?”

I suppose it’s a grief for more intangible things. Time lost, self known, future imagined, trust in body, ignorance about mortality. Of course, I remember some of these from the first time around.

Been a bit of a funny week. Heard a lot about various people’s illnesses, which reminds me of my own. Which might be a bit selfish or something, to be thinking about how other people’s troubles make me think about my own, but can’t really be helped. One of them was really close to home and I would have preferred not to hear about it. But never mind. I’ve been having some unpleasant memories about being in hospital, recovering at home and stuff. Might also be because I have quite a few checkups coming up. Saw a baby in the pub last night, which also made me a bit sad. It wasn’t particularly cute but it was tiny - a fresh human. His mother looked absolutely besotted. Oh, and I’m sad about my hair still feeling really thin. Not sure what to do about that. Any tips? And generally low-key worried about literally anything happening to my body, even the smallest ailment, because I feel like I just can’t cope with it, emotionally, like the slightest thing might tip me over the edge. I think the bad memories are better than thinking about what the future might hold, because even when I imagine good hings happening, I worry that something will come along and interrupt it. Like, I want to do my PhD, but what if I get cancer again while I’m studying? Or, I’m going on a big holiday next year, but what if something health-related happens to me between now and then and we have to cancel it? Or even, it’s bank holiday, but what if I get an abscess again and it’s all I can think about?

I have a rather nice rest of the week ahead of me which is making me quite nervous. My aunty and uncle are visiting tomorrow, on Saturday night I’m going out with a friend, and I’m going to make time during the weekend to be super productive with Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine and my PhD application and maybe some other writing, I hope. Everything seems... okay. Good, even. And that is bad. Well, it’s good but it makes me wonder what’s going to come along and fuck everything up. I can’t possibly be left alone by the medical world for any great length of time, surely?

Well no, I can’t, because in May and June I have one doctor’s appointment every two weeks. Things are about to get anxiety-inducing. But they are not close enough for me to get freaked out about them just yet.

Anyway it’s not all sunflowers and moonshine. I almost cried today when I logged into BBC iPlayer and it asked me if I wanted to set up parental lock on my account. Didn’t though. Cry, that is - just a tiny blip.

I haven’t blogged in a while because I haven’t had too much cancer-related to talk about. But I thought I’d write a quick post about some of things that are happening seven months post-hysterectomy and five months post-whipple. (I can’t believe it’s actually been seven months since my hysterectomy already.)

- Hot flushes are happening, and they are hot! And never useful. They tend to happen when I’m already warm, so it’s not like I was in Iceland in -12 degrees and suddenly like “oh brilliant, I’m having a hot flush, this will keep me toasty!” It’s when I’m under my blanket on the sofa, normal temperature, and suddenly there’s a sun in my torso radiating its beams to every extremity.

- Surgery pain is still a thing. Like, I played badminton a couple of weeks ago and only had one twinge when I exerted myself. But my side hurts after driving or while walking or after a day at work, or after sitting upright for a while. Probably because I’m less careful at those times, or something.

- Hurting myself while sneezing was a thing after my bowel surgery in 2010 and it’s having a comeback. That’s why I may be heard making an “aaachooo-owww” noise.

- Surgery scars, scars from drain sites, and a weirdly mis-shapen tummy that will just never be toned or look great. (But then it probably hasn’t been toned for about 12 years, anyway.)

- Complicated feelings about infertility. This is a great article I can relate to in a few ways. I feel a bit sad and guilty and confused and unreasonably annoyed at people luckier than me.

- A little bit of worry about planning for the future - that if I plan anything good too far in advance, everything will go to shit again before then.

- Upset, surprise and disappointment that I have friends I haven’t heard from for, well, about seven months, since my hysterectomy.

- A little worry that people may not understand that things don’t just go back to normal after cancer and surgery.

I have two pieces out in the April issue of Bonnie’s crew! The first (page 30) is a creative non-fiction piece called The News, which I have been trying to place for possibly a couple of years now. It’s about trying to fit the anxiety of going for scans in with everyday life, and how easily that anxiety can be triggered.

The poem is called Grammar Error (page 37) and it’s a real short one, written after my hsyterectomy.

You can read them both here:

https://bonnieandcrew.wordpress.com/2019/04/09/bonnies-crew-2-april-2019/

My poem Twitch is out today in Thimble Literary Magazine! I wrote it a little after my hysterectomy in October. You can read it here, along with some other great poems (I particularly like “Cancer Lyric V”): 

Hello! Life is really nice right now. I’ve started back at work part-time and I’m enjoying it. The dress code changed so we can wear casual clothes. I’m looking forward to a couple of weekend trips away with my boyfriend. I’m thinking about doing a PhD. I was anxious last week because I had a phone call on Tuesday asking me to go in for my annual flexi sig on Friday and that was like, no time at all to get used to the idea. But I went and they said my internal pouch is healthy. There’s nothing like that kind of relief. I know this mood won’t last forever so I am trying to enjoy it while it’s here. But I’m happy. I can’t think of anything to be unhappy about. Well, I reactivated Facebook and on the second day of doing so, someone announced their pregnancy, and that made me feel sort of useless, like what’s the point in being a woman if I can’t carry out the function of childbearing. But there is no point in dwelling on that. Just observe the emotion, and let it go. Sometimes that’s not so hard.

Round glasses, pink with colourful splotches. Mustard tie, grey cardigan buttoned up and restricting. Green and pink satchel with yellow clasps that click closed in that satisfying way. First day of school picture on the patio in the garden. Faded hopscotch. Curls tied up in a ponytail. Pleated skirt. Shiny black shoes. Fluttering stomach. Feeling of dread. Long walk to school.

The smell of the wet bay. Plasticine. Snacks go in the snack box. Crisps and apples placed in the plastic blue basket until break time.

Blue jelly-like paint, hard to spread.

Sitting on the floor. White cotton socks, long. Roll them down and roll them up and roll them down. Listening.

Playing families. Baby crawls through mummy’s legs when being born.

Playing house. A boy in an apron and bonnet, cooking.

First kiss at six years old. Holding hands with the ginger boy who makes me laugh.

The caretaker has a gun and has shot a kid before. That’s what they say.

Posing with candy sticks like they are cigarettes. The box has a cartoon on it but the sticks feel funny and don’t taste nice. Powdery texture.

Putting Hula Hoops on every finger like wedding rings and eating them off our hands.

Sharing lunch by playing “scramble”. Food in the middle of the table. First one to grab it gets to keep it. Or swapsies. Simple trades.

Stories. Home time. Chairs on tables. Afternoon prayers.

Walk home. Hold Daddy’s hand. Chatter about the day. Cross at the lights. Walk through the ginnel. Home. Mum is making pie. Meat and potato. Gravy. Daddies Sauce. Baby carrots. I want to write a story. What should I write about? Daddy says write about the brown sauce bottle that runs away from home. Tells me a rhyming story about a pair of men who shot each other with swords. It is a strange story.

Sitting on the floor. Colouring, drawing.

I feel old and torn apart tired and torn apart torn and tired apart

I tried living alongside moths brightside moths

they tell me to always look on the bright side too

but the chipper clip of their wings gets in my face they always fly towards the face

I was the patient making the anaesthetists laugh before we went into the operating theatre and I still am

but I have a library full of memories now and all the books have been checked out by me

I open one and a brightside moth lands on the middle pages

I have been looking for books and things about dealing with cancer as a traumatic experience, and I’ve found more things talking about cancer being caused by stress than about it being a cause of stress. No wonder I used to try to figure out whether I officially had PTSD - some sort of validation on emotional issues would be nice.

My hair is falling out like it fucking hates my scalp, I’m finding it a bit hard to catch my breath tonight (happens occasionally) and my back is aching. The last two things are definitely stress-related, and the first one is either stress, the menopause, or both. I’m not too worried about my hair falling out because that’s a cosmetic problem compared to the previous problem of actual cancer. It’s just super annoying finding it on my clothes and all over my hands when I wash my hair, and having to pull it out of my comb. And it’s pretty ironic that I said no to chemo and my hair is falling out anyway.

I have two hospital appointments next week so I don’t think that’s helping matters. Wondering if I should try counselling again but I don’t know what I’d say and I feel weird about paying someone to have a conversation with me, because I didn’t get much out of it last time.

I’m going back to work in a couple of weeks and I’m worried that everyone is going to just forget I ever had cancer, while here I am basically still recovering, emotionally if not so much physically anymore.

I hadn’t even been too bad with it lately, apart from the occasional replaying stuff in my head (which is as pointless as it sounds). Sometimes I’m just sad. And sometimes my body does annoying stuff that makes it feel like everything is still not quite right. Which of course it isn’t - it was fucking cancer.

I’m trying to write my memoir, which I think would fill a bit of a gap of the emotional post-cancer stuff not being talked about very much. But it’s very slow going and I’m not sure if it will help my stress or make me more stressed. Really, I just want to be as chilled out as possible so that I can stop picking hairs from off my favourite blanket.

Right now I am continually amazed at how far I have come. For example, I am currently drinking Diet Coke. From a can, without waiting for it to go flat or anything. Do you know how annoying it was not to be able to drink Coke for weeks? I was worried I might not be able to enjoy it ever again. God, I love Coke.

And I can drive again. DRIVE. I can go to places without asking someone to drive me. And I can ride in the car without putting a pillow between me and the seat belt. And soon, one of the places I can drive to will be work. It will be part-time at first, but I’m so close to getting back to normal completely.

And I can eat pretty much whatever I want, in larger quantities than before. I can eat a full meal now, no problem! No more leaving half of my food because I can’t finish it. Well, not often, anyway.

And I can sit up in a chair at the pub for a few hours without getting too tired. The first time I went to our weekly pub quiz after my second op was about four weeks afterwards, and it was exhausting. It hardly bothers me at all anymore.

What else? Editing Peeking Cat again - that’s a good one. And having enough energy to do some writing, and submit poems - I currently have work forthcoming in RAW Journal of Arts, Bonnie’s Crew, Amaryllis, Thimble Lit Mag, and Potato Soup Journal. And I’m working on my memoir.

Oh, and travelling! I’m going to Iceland tomorrow. We’re looking for the Northern Lights, which would be great to tick off my bucket list.

I haven’t gotten there yet with everything, though. My three drain sites haven’t healed yet so I can’t swim or have a bath, and it’s not comfortable to lie on my belly yet. So those are a couple of goals, I guess. Plus, I still get tired easily - I’m doing more now than I could before but because I’m doing more I get tired just as much.

All that is to say that no, it isn’t over and it never will be, because there will always be appointments and fear of recurrence and I’m kind of waiting to see if I feel the same way I felt after the first time it happened. It takes a while to sink in and for the thinking to start properly. (Though tell that to my hair, which is currently falling out due to stress or the operations or whatever. Did I mention yet that I was offered chemo and said no because there is little to no evidence of it being effective in preventing recurrence in my particular situation? Ironic that I’m not having chemo and my hair is coming out anyway. Not too much, but enough to be annoying.)

Besides my slightly gloomy outlook about the never-ending doom of cancer, I am very happy that I can do all of these things now. Because particularly soon after when I was recovering from the second op, I felt like things were never going to get better. Recovery has taken so long - is taking so long - that it felt like I would never eat normally again, never drink whatever I wanted again, never have enough energy to do all the things I normally did. It is incredible how resilient the human body is, and there is much to be grateful for.

Also, wanna see my scars? Please excuse the dressings on my drain sites, and the general grossness of the whole thing. This is how they looked about three weeks ago. Pretty big, huh?