Posted on March 14, 2016
Something curious happened yesterday morning.
It was a Sunday, and have always loved Sundays. Gaz works five long days and is understandably fond of a golf game on Saturday. So, Sunday is our family day. It always starts slowly, with me facebooking on the laptop, while whinging about Gaz watching golf on foxtel. The kids usually come in for a snuggle at some stage, though less often now, and we remininisce about when they were young, really small, babies….and we lived in our little 11 square house. I was often found to be whinging about that house, the size of it, trying to make it work for six people..but there are times now when I dream about being back in that house again. With those babies. Cancer never touched that house. It never touched a single fucking Sunday there.
Don’t get me wrong, Sundays are still good. Still my favourite day. I think I have written about it before, how all my days start now. But especially Sunday. So, I wake up, I stretch out of sleep, snuggle into a warm man, knowing the day is full of promise. Then I realise that I have cancer, a new revelation every day. It doesn’t make me gasp out loud any more, doesn’t hit me like a hammer blow. I just lay there for a minute, re-calibrate, bring myself into the moment, remind myself that I have this day. I still have this day, the same as everyone else who is still breathing on the planet. And then I get on with my day, with a scar cut through Sunday.
Sunday mornings also use to heavily involve Pinterest. I could spend hours on the laptop in bed, pouring over recipes that I wouldn’t make, projects that I would never do, Susie Homemaker type stuff that would have me shaking my head in amusement and awe at the ENERGY of these women! I wander in and out of Pinterest sometimes now, but never on a Sunday morning. It took me a while after being diagnosed to realise I’d stopped. Like Pinterest was for the living, for the bright, the beautiful, the hopeful.
Yesterday, I fired up Pinterest. I didn’t even think about it, I just did it. I idly wandered through recipes and DIY projects, laughed at the image of how these things would actually look if I tried to do them.
Then, I wandered down the hall to make a coffee and it hit me. It hit me that it HADN’T hit me. No hammer blow, no re-calibrating. The scar was there, but it was PART OF ME. It’s been with me for so long, that now it lives in me. As long as I live, I know it always will, but maybe this is the end of the every fucking morning realisation that I still go through to this day. I didn’t think there was another stage, but I find myself in it. So, there you go.
I’m tired at the moment, so tired. Last night I slept for 14 hours. I even missed My Kitchen Rules, lol. We visited a friend yesterday, and we had fish and chips at Balnarring Beach, which was lovely, but I slept in the car on the way there and the way back. I hope this will improve, but at the moment I know it is my body telling me something and I have to listen to it.
So, for now, I will stop worrying about how I am going to fill my future, and just “be”. I’ll keep on loving this man:
We have four hours of respite every second Tuesday, due to Georgia having Down syndrome. We have been really making the most of these lately, usually finding a nice restaurant to while away the hours, and we really TALK again. And we SMILE. I think Gaz has felt the shift too…he knows that we can’t be free of this, and must learn to live with it, and live well, and happy.
On a final note, last week I was really quite down in the dumps about the pink and grey hair combination….fire engine red is great for shits and giggles if you have the time and money to maintain it, lol. I’ve probably only got two cycles of chemo left for the foreseeable future and I decided whatever hair I have now, I am probably going to keep. So, I went to my hairdresser and said I don’t care if it falls out, PLEASE, can we try to get my back to platinum. I MISSED that hair every minute I didn’t have it, because the very first time I had it done it was like I was the person on the outside that was always on the inside. Might sound crazy to some, but it was the essence of who I was in a way, and I don’t feel like me without it. Three bleach baths and lots of toner later, I emerged like this!
It’s made me happy, something I never thought I would be able to get back, when I was told I would almost certainly lose all my hair on this chemo regime, or at least it would be rendered too weak to withstand peroxide. It’s like a symbol of strength. GO STRONG HAIR. Go strong me
Love and hope to all who need it xx