Bridget Jones: I read that you should never go out with someone if you can think of three reasons why you shouldn't.
Mark Darcy: And can you think of three?
Bridget Jones: Yes.
Mark Darcy: Which are?
Bridget Jones: First off, I embarrass you. I can't ski, I can't ride, I can't speak Latin , my legs only come up to here and yes I will always be just a little bit fat.
There is no doubt about it ... Wednesday was a pretty momentous day. The morning started with my new obsession ... lash adoration. Now, I have always really liked my long dark eyelashes ... almost as much as my boobs ... and absolutely hated it when they fell out. They and my brows were the last things to go ... and unfortunately this coincided with those truly horrid side effects from Killer Chemo. This meant I not only felt awful but I looked pretty ill and grotty too.
OK ... they are not quite as lengthy and luscious as they were before, but they are getting there, and will a little help with some ‘scara they are looking pretty darn good. On top of that, I have spent the last couple of weeks looking as if someone has gone to poke two fingers in my eyes ... and missed ‘cos my little legs make me so short ... and they have ended up jabbing me just above the sockets instead, leaving two dark bruises. This is because my brow hairs have been nestling just under the skin waiting to push through... like little tadpoles beneath the surface of the water waiting to burst out of their captivity ... which they have finally succeeded in doing and are now sprouting nicely.
As I stared into the mirror I contemplated the afternoon ahead. I had called Dr Jordan’s secretary as he had told me to. “Hi Tania. Dr Jordan said I should call you to make sure my pathology results were available and that my case was going to team meet this morning?” “I’ll check and call you back”. Which she did. “Yes, your case went to MDT so you can come over this afternoon.” “Good” I replied, nervously. “By the way, it is not Dr Jordan this afternoon, it is Dr Price.” Oh ....
Now I have met Dr Price. Just the once. He came along with Dr Jordan to my pre-op meeting. That was where Dr Jordan merrily doodled all over my torso with a black marker pen whilst telling Dr Price what he was planning to do during surgery. After which Dr Jordan took a photo of me so that I could join his infamous photo gallery of patients he has performed surgery on. “Make sure you don’t get my head in this pic” I demanded. “No, of course not” he promised me. “Well, I am not bothered about the boobs ... it feels like everybody has copped a look at those ... I just don’t want anyone to see me in this rather fetching outfit ... NOT!” Well ... the hideous surgery gown, matched with the revolting white DVT surgery stockings and my fluffy slippers were so not a good look ... though my friend Bubbles did say she couldn’t believe I will still colour co-ordinated ...
Now ... Dr Price seemed like a jolly nice chap ... but if there was going to be negative news ... they hadn’t got clear margins and that I would have to return to the hospital in the next week or so for further surgery ... this time for a full mastectomy ... then I would rather hear this from Dr Jordan. After all these months he knows what I am like ... that I will need lots of comforting and reassurance. Surely, he wouldn’t let me lose on the poor innocent Dr Price?! Then my heart skipped a beat. Perhaps that was it? Maybe that is why I had to ring in prior to my appointment...‘cos if it was bad news then Dr Jordan would postpone my visit for a week ... so that he would be the one to advise on the bad news ... but it is not bad news ... which is why I am meeting Dr Price ... or is all that wishful thinking ...
My first appointment of the afternoon was to have the drain removed. Now, for those of you who have never seen one I will explain. The drain was put in during surgery and is a tube about a foot long with a clear see through bag at the end. Blood and other bodily fluids flow down the tube to the bag, which needed changing each day. I hated it. It looked horrid ... it was cumbersome and uncomfortable ... and I was worried that I would pull it out ... particularly during my sleep. It was a bit apprehensive the removal was going to hurt but it was fine, probably helped by the fact I was still on the painkiller combo. However, I was pretty shocked when Nurse C said she had removed it and then pointed out that the spaghetti like tube inside my body was about 9 inches long ... urrgh! As a consolation she let me keep the funky little linen bag that I carried the drain about in ... I am thinking I might dye it and hang on to it as a little keep sake ... along with them fetching DVT stockings which came home too ... mmm ...
“Well we have some good news” said Dr Price cheerfully, “All went well and I am going to refer you back to Dr Oh-so-luv-ver-ly so he can discuss radiotherapy with you". “It was clear margins?” I stammered nervously and held my breath. “Oh yes” he smiled broadly, “excellent margins ... this type of surgery is renowned for being successful. Do you mind if I take a look ... and can I bring my student?” Oh ... some things are don’t change, I smirked to myself.
“I’ve waited seven months to hear that news”, I confessed in hushed tones to Nurse J as she helped me undress behind the curtain. “I know” she said reassuringly. “You can cry now.” I looked at her and chuckled knowingly. Then I paused and wondered ... have these guys got so used to my delicate emotional state that they have set a sweepstake on how far into my appointment the tissues come out! If so I must have disappointed on this occasion ‘cos most surprisingly ... probably for the first appointment ever ... I didn’t cry. That is the honest truth ... really ... and I haven’t since ... though I am not sure why ... it is almost as if I can’t quite believe that Yukky Lump has finally gone ... that the light at the end of this breast cancer tunnel hell is getting bigger and brighter every day ...
You know that saying ... that really famous one ... yeah ... it ain’t over until the always-just-a-little-bit fat lady sings ... well you’d better brace yourselves ...
"Climb every mountain,
Search high and low,
Follow every highway,
Every path you know.
Climb every mountain,
Ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow,
Till you find your dream.
A dream that will need,
All the love you can give,
Every day of your life,
For as long as you live.
Climb every mountain,
Ford every stream,
Follow every rainbow,
Till you find your dream ..."
Sunday, 28 March 2010
Monday, 22 March 2010
Stop press!
Happy Monday morning everyone! Just a very quick update between naps and daytime TV ....
The lumpectomy/breast reduction op on Friday appears to have gone OK. Dr Jordan came to see me on Sat and he said surgery went to plan and that he was pleased. He is optimistic that he got clear margins around Yukky Lump but can't be sure until the pathology results come in - so fingers crossed!
I am now at home - taking it easy. Emotions keep swinging around - I guess from the stress, drugs and tiredness - and worry that they might end up calling me back in for further surgery if they didn't get the clear margins. But hey ... you know what an emotional little soul I am at the best of times!
I was really surprised how hard it was to walk to car from ward yesterday .. and a gentle cruise around the supermarket was a nightmare ... I was very weak and dizzy. I am feeling better today having had a good night's sleep. I am not in pain due to pain killers but absolutely hate the drain that is coming out of my armpit and which have to lug around in a bag. I have to change it in a minute ... urrgh ... shame they have stopped the morphine ....
Can I just say a special "hi" to my new pals who welcomed me to the "Girls Too Loud" hospital ward ... their cheerfulness and support meant a lot ... best wishes to you ... I hope you are all doing well!
Yawn ... I guess my 10 minute keyboard allocation is up ... time for another snooze ... catch you guys soon ...
The lumpectomy/breast reduction op on Friday appears to have gone OK. Dr Jordan came to see me on Sat and he said surgery went to plan and that he was pleased. He is optimistic that he got clear margins around Yukky Lump but can't be sure until the pathology results come in - so fingers crossed!
I am now at home - taking it easy. Emotions keep swinging around - I guess from the stress, drugs and tiredness - and worry that they might end up calling me back in for further surgery if they didn't get the clear margins. But hey ... you know what an emotional little soul I am at the best of times!
I was really surprised how hard it was to walk to car from ward yesterday .. and a gentle cruise around the supermarket was a nightmare ... I was very weak and dizzy. I am feeling better today having had a good night's sleep. I am not in pain due to pain killers but absolutely hate the drain that is coming out of my armpit and which have to lug around in a bag. I have to change it in a minute ... urrgh ... shame they have stopped the morphine ....
Can I just say a special "hi" to my new pals who welcomed me to the "Girls Too Loud" hospital ward ... their cheerfulness and support meant a lot ... best wishes to you ... I hope you are all doing well!
Yawn ... I guess my 10 minute keyboard allocation is up ... time for another snooze ... catch you guys soon ...
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Un soupçon sojourn
Peaches and I have this little joke ... that we are going to write a book called Soups of South Devon ... ‘cos each time we go for one of our ‘walks’ we pop into an eaterie for a warming bowl. Well at least I thought it was a joke. I must admit I was little taken aback this week, when we had settled down for a leisurely lunch, and she announced with much authority, after a couple of slurps, that the celery and apple concoction was “very nice though it doesn’t have the subtle undertones of the turnip and sage”. I glanced up, smiling, but then realised she was being totally serious ... That was Friday ... a pleasant outing following my series of hospital appointments the previous day ...
The envelope hit the door mat with a thud. The franking machine mark told me it was from the hospital even before I opened it. Inside there was half a dozen letters inviting me to various appointments ... my pre-op briefing; my pre-op one-to-one; my pre-anaesthetic review; my bloods and blood pressure; surgery and then, finally, the post-surgery meeting. I give it to my hospital ... they are co-ordinated ... and economical ... though it may have been a little less daunting if they had arrived separately ...
So on Thursday I toodled off for my first four appointments ... picking up Lil’sis on the way ... armed with her snack and drink we could have been going for a day out in Scarborough. First appointment was the pre-op talk. There were three of us there ... me ... Gloria who was in her 60s and Gladys who must be 70-odd. The nurse handed out some info and talked about the surgery ... to be truthful she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know ... but then again I have been hanging out in this parallel cancer world quite a lot longer than the other gals. Though ... having said that ... I was a bit shocked when she moved on to the post surgery stuff ... typical me, trying to run before I can walk, quite literally ...
“Now, after surgery and before you go home we want you to put a bra on. It is important that it doesn’t have underwire in it.” She must of caught the look on my face. When it comes to bras I don’t do two things ... padded ... what is that all about ... and non-wired. “You don’t have to buy one if you don’t have one” she assured quickly, “You can just remove the wire from an old bra. Alternatively a sports bra is ideal.” Well, I guess it would be, but even my sports bra is underwired.
“Talking of which, for those of you who are sporty you will need to refrain from activity for quite some time after surgery.” I glanced over at Gloria and Gladys who, quite frankly, didn’t seem too bothered by this news. “How long exactly?” I chipped in. “Three months”, she replied. “Three months?!” “Yes”, she responded. “What, including cycling?” “No cycling.” “What about swimming?” I asked, almost pleadingly. “No swimming.” “Walking?" I was now sounding desperate. “Oh walking is fine. We like walking”. Just was well I have them little red walking boots ...
"There is a fine line between doing your exercises and over doing it” she went on to say. “For example, you will need to limit your time on the computer keyboard to ten minutes.” Neither Gladys nor Gloria showed any emotion at this news ... whereas I gasped and let out a shocked and hushed “No!” “I guess you use a computer?” she enquired. “Oh yes” piped up Lil’sis, taking advantage of my state of shock. “Facebook. Oh and her blog.” “Oh, you have a blog?” enquired the nurse. “Oh yes” chattered Lil’sis, quite merrily, "she has people all over the world reading it." I would have kicked her if I could ... but it wasn’t possible without everyone witnessing it. Yep, that is true ... guys from the US, Canada, France, Hong Kong ... even the Philippines ... but I wasn’t proposing to tell the people at my hospital, those who are treating and caring for me, that they are featuring in a weekly narrative ...
Done at the Breast Care Unit we then pottered off to outpatients for the other two appointments. “Hello, I am Staff Nurse A ... I need to get some info off you before your surgery ... it will take about 20 minutes ... is that OK? Right, can you jump on here so I can weigh you?” I grimaced. Between August and and December I did really well and managed to remain the same weight, but Killer Chemo not only had an impact on the lump ... but my scales too. It is what my friend Debby rather endearingly calls Chemo Chub. Now, people often think that if you have cancer then you will lose weight ... and if you are very poorly this is the case ... but for the likes of me ... and many others... it ain’t. That’s because of a number of reasons .... for starters there are the ruddy steroids ... then due to the chemo you look and feel rough so you are nowhere near as active as you were ... so you are stuck at home ... with your head in the fridge ... trying to find something you can eat which doesn’t taste like cardboard ... And then you have surgery and are told that you pretty much can’t do anything for three months ...
Staff Nurse A was right chirpy, breaking the monotony of the form filling by putting down her pen and telling little ditties. "Have you had general anaesthetic before?" asked Staff Nurse A. "Yes. I started talking rubbish as I went under" I admitted. “Well” she replied, “I have a funny story about that” putting her pen down once more. “A while ago an elderly lady came in ... she was really posh ... well spoken ... pearls ... quite prim. We were talking about her previous surgery and she gripped her clutch bag, which was resting on her lap, and leant forward and told me in hushed tones what had happened when she was coming out round from the anaesthetic.” “I don’t know what came over me. Apparently I shouted: Right Mr P, all done you can now ‘eff’ off home.” Staff Nurse A said “I was quite shocked. I didn’t even think Mrs Windsor would know the word. Apparently Mr P was not offended and left a note next to her bed which said: Dear Mrs Windsor, I have now effed off home like you told me. I will see you in the morning."
Staff Nurse A picked up her pen and wrote some more before going on to describe what will happen on surgery day. “Now, you might be able to keep your knickers on during surgery.” Err ... I didn’t realise that I might not. “So make sure the ones you are wearing don’t have any studs or sequins.” Studs ... or sequins ... nah ... I don’t do padded or non-wired ... nor studs or sequins.
So ... with only a few days to go until surgery ... how do I feel? Surprisingly, not too bad ... though admittedly I am not thinking about it too much. When I do ... I console myself that I am having a breast reduction ... just like thousands of other women do each year ... and who do it voluntarily. But of course in reality my situation is a bit different ... as my breast reduction also includes the removal of the now grape-like-sized Yukky Lump ... and some nodes under my armpit ... which probably means I will be carting a fluid drain around for a while. But then again ... for the first time in seven months I will ... touch wood ... be able to say that I am cancer-free.
However, to be truthful, rather than surgery I am probably more apprehensive of my follow up appointment with Dr Jordan, which is to take place a few days after surgery. That is when and where he will tell me whether he has successfully removed the lump and enough healthy tissue around it. If that is not the case then I will have to return to the hospital and he will operate once more ... but would do a mastectomy ... and remove the whole breast ...
A meeting that might be rather embarrassing if I start talking under anaesthetic ... ...
“Dr Jordan ... well you are Dr Jordan in my blog ... 'Jordan' because you are my boob man ... can I have your opinion ... knickers ... surely lacy is preferable to studs ... and hospital lunch tomorrow ... would you go for cream of mushroom ... or French onion ....”
The envelope hit the door mat with a thud. The franking machine mark told me it was from the hospital even before I opened it. Inside there was half a dozen letters inviting me to various appointments ... my pre-op briefing; my pre-op one-to-one; my pre-anaesthetic review; my bloods and blood pressure; surgery and then, finally, the post-surgery meeting. I give it to my hospital ... they are co-ordinated ... and economical ... though it may have been a little less daunting if they had arrived separately ...
So on Thursday I toodled off for my first four appointments ... picking up Lil’sis on the way ... armed with her snack and drink we could have been going for a day out in Scarborough. First appointment was the pre-op talk. There were three of us there ... me ... Gloria who was in her 60s and Gladys who must be 70-odd. The nurse handed out some info and talked about the surgery ... to be truthful she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know ... but then again I have been hanging out in this parallel cancer world quite a lot longer than the other gals. Though ... having said that ... I was a bit shocked when she moved on to the post surgery stuff ... typical me, trying to run before I can walk, quite literally ...
“Now, after surgery and before you go home we want you to put a bra on. It is important that it doesn’t have underwire in it.” She must of caught the look on my face. When it comes to bras I don’t do two things ... padded ... what is that all about ... and non-wired. “You don’t have to buy one if you don’t have one” she assured quickly, “You can just remove the wire from an old bra. Alternatively a sports bra is ideal.” Well, I guess it would be, but even my sports bra is underwired.
“Talking of which, for those of you who are sporty you will need to refrain from activity for quite some time after surgery.” I glanced over at Gloria and Gladys who, quite frankly, didn’t seem too bothered by this news. “How long exactly?” I chipped in. “Three months”, she replied. “Three months?!” “Yes”, she responded. “What, including cycling?” “No cycling.” “What about swimming?” I asked, almost pleadingly. “No swimming.” “Walking?" I was now sounding desperate. “Oh walking is fine. We like walking”. Just was well I have them little red walking boots ...
"There is a fine line between doing your exercises and over doing it” she went on to say. “For example, you will need to limit your time on the computer keyboard to ten minutes.” Neither Gladys nor Gloria showed any emotion at this news ... whereas I gasped and let out a shocked and hushed “No!” “I guess you use a computer?” she enquired. “Oh yes” piped up Lil’sis, taking advantage of my state of shock. “Facebook. Oh and her blog.” “Oh, you have a blog?” enquired the nurse. “Oh yes” chattered Lil’sis, quite merrily, "she has people all over the world reading it." I would have kicked her if I could ... but it wasn’t possible without everyone witnessing it. Yep, that is true ... guys from the US, Canada, France, Hong Kong ... even the Philippines ... but I wasn’t proposing to tell the people at my hospital, those who are treating and caring for me, that they are featuring in a weekly narrative ...
Done at the Breast Care Unit we then pottered off to outpatients for the other two appointments. “Hello, I am Staff Nurse A ... I need to get some info off you before your surgery ... it will take about 20 minutes ... is that OK? Right, can you jump on here so I can weigh you?” I grimaced. Between August and and December I did really well and managed to remain the same weight, but Killer Chemo not only had an impact on the lump ... but my scales too. It is what my friend Debby rather endearingly calls Chemo Chub. Now, people often think that if you have cancer then you will lose weight ... and if you are very poorly this is the case ... but for the likes of me ... and many others... it ain’t. That’s because of a number of reasons .... for starters there are the ruddy steroids ... then due to the chemo you look and feel rough so you are nowhere near as active as you were ... so you are stuck at home ... with your head in the fridge ... trying to find something you can eat which doesn’t taste like cardboard ... And then you have surgery and are told that you pretty much can’t do anything for three months ...
Staff Nurse A was right chirpy, breaking the monotony of the form filling by putting down her pen and telling little ditties. "Have you had general anaesthetic before?" asked Staff Nurse A. "Yes. I started talking rubbish as I went under" I admitted. “Well” she replied, “I have a funny story about that” putting her pen down once more. “A while ago an elderly lady came in ... she was really posh ... well spoken ... pearls ... quite prim. We were talking about her previous surgery and she gripped her clutch bag, which was resting on her lap, and leant forward and told me in hushed tones what had happened when she was coming out round from the anaesthetic.” “I don’t know what came over me. Apparently I shouted: Right Mr P, all done you can now ‘eff’ off home.” Staff Nurse A said “I was quite shocked. I didn’t even think Mrs Windsor would know the word. Apparently Mr P was not offended and left a note next to her bed which said: Dear Mrs Windsor, I have now effed off home like you told me. I will see you in the morning."
Staff Nurse A picked up her pen and wrote some more before going on to describe what will happen on surgery day. “Now, you might be able to keep your knickers on during surgery.” Err ... I didn’t realise that I might not. “So make sure the ones you are wearing don’t have any studs or sequins.” Studs ... or sequins ... nah ... I don’t do padded or non-wired ... nor studs or sequins.
So ... with only a few days to go until surgery ... how do I feel? Surprisingly, not too bad ... though admittedly I am not thinking about it too much. When I do ... I console myself that I am having a breast reduction ... just like thousands of other women do each year ... and who do it voluntarily. But of course in reality my situation is a bit different ... as my breast reduction also includes the removal of the now grape-like-sized Yukky Lump ... and some nodes under my armpit ... which probably means I will be carting a fluid drain around for a while. But then again ... for the first time in seven months I will ... touch wood ... be able to say that I am cancer-free.
However, to be truthful, rather than surgery I am probably more apprehensive of my follow up appointment with Dr Jordan, which is to take place a few days after surgery. That is when and where he will tell me whether he has successfully removed the lump and enough healthy tissue around it. If that is not the case then I will have to return to the hospital and he will operate once more ... but would do a mastectomy ... and remove the whole breast ...
A meeting that might be rather embarrassing if I start talking under anaesthetic ... ...
“Dr Jordan ... well you are Dr Jordan in my blog ... 'Jordan' because you are my boob man ... can I have your opinion ... knickers ... surely lacy is preferable to studs ... and hospital lunch tomorrow ... would you go for cream of mushroom ... or French onion ....”
Saturday, 6 March 2010
Can you make it a double ...
I heard some really good news this week. Someone got a job that she was after ... and I was absolutely delighted for her.
"What's so unusual about that?" you might say ... OK so even in this awful economic climate that is no great shakes... but what might surprise you is this person lives far away ... I have never met her ... I haven’t even spoken to her... and I could sit next to her on a bus and she wouldn’t know me from Adam ... or Eve, for that matter.
I am not exactly sure when I ‘met’ CK ... but it was just after my diagnosis in August. That awful foggy time ... when the shock of the news has left you numb and bewildered. I spent a lot of the time surfing the net to find out more about breast cancer ... what are the side effects of chemotherapy ... what kind of surgery... what is the long term prognosis ... why me ...? I was looking for information, reassurance and empathy. And that was when I found the Macmillan website. A brilliant resource that on a daily basis unfortunately ‘welcomes’ hundreds of just-diagnosed cancer patients, and their friends and family, like bees to a honey pot. And magically ... amongst the thousands of people who log on .... and within the maze of forums ... that is where I electronically bumped into CK ... doing the same as me.
Now ... CK and I have a number of things in common ... we like photography ... and animals, particularly cats ... walking ... oh, and a little wine with supper ... but the majority of our e-mail conversations over the last six months have been about breast cancer ... and getting rid of it. As CK and I were diagnosed at about the same time our treatment has often coincided ... and we have had long rambling discussions on how we have tackled the different challenges. CK started her chemotherapy the day before me and so a lot of our initial discussions were about how we were each coping with the side effects. CK is much more grounded ... far less dramatic ... which is good for me. For example, as you probably remember, I hated losing my hair and both the anticipation and the seeing it dropping out was quite traumatic for me. However CK was quite matter of fact about it all ... I remember her telling me hers was dropping out whilst she was decorating ... and that she was laughing at the fact it kept sticking to the wallpaper she was putting up ... which made me smile too ...
Now that we have finished the chemo our more recent e-mail exchanges have been about scans ... and surgery ... and radiotherapy. That was until she sent me the note to say that she was pleased as she had been for a job interview and had been successful. Obviously I read the news and was delighted for her ... but then I sat back and realised it meant a lot to me too. I felt uplifted ... but why? Why did I feel excited about someone, who I have never even met, getting a job?
Because ... for the very first time ... CK and I were celebrating something that wasn’t to do with cancer. We weren’t patting each other on the back for getting through another session of chemotherapy ... it wasn’t wishing good luck with the surgery ... or congratulating the birth of stubbly eyelash growth. No ... this was a new job ... a promotion ... we were celebrating something that ‘normal’ people do. And that made me happy ... for her ... and for me. Together we were embracing the future.
So tomorrow, whilst my friend is sitting in her kitchen ... the kitchen I have never stepped in ... celebrating her birthday ... I will be here ... many miles away ... celebrating mine ... and raising a large glass of fizz to my new found ‘twin’.
CK ... it has been a tough old journey ... and we still have a way to go ... but we are getting there.
Many happy returns to the both of us!
"What's so unusual about that?" you might say ... OK so even in this awful economic climate that is no great shakes... but what might surprise you is this person lives far away ... I have never met her ... I haven’t even spoken to her... and I could sit next to her on a bus and she wouldn’t know me from Adam ... or Eve, for that matter.
I am not exactly sure when I ‘met’ CK ... but it was just after my diagnosis in August. That awful foggy time ... when the shock of the news has left you numb and bewildered. I spent a lot of the time surfing the net to find out more about breast cancer ... what are the side effects of chemotherapy ... what kind of surgery... what is the long term prognosis ... why me ...? I was looking for information, reassurance and empathy. And that was when I found the Macmillan website. A brilliant resource that on a daily basis unfortunately ‘welcomes’ hundreds of just-diagnosed cancer patients, and their friends and family, like bees to a honey pot. And magically ... amongst the thousands of people who log on .... and within the maze of forums ... that is where I electronically bumped into CK ... doing the same as me.
Now ... CK and I have a number of things in common ... we like photography ... and animals, particularly cats ... walking ... oh, and a little wine with supper ... but the majority of our e-mail conversations over the last six months have been about breast cancer ... and getting rid of it. As CK and I were diagnosed at about the same time our treatment has often coincided ... and we have had long rambling discussions on how we have tackled the different challenges. CK started her chemotherapy the day before me and so a lot of our initial discussions were about how we were each coping with the side effects. CK is much more grounded ... far less dramatic ... which is good for me. For example, as you probably remember, I hated losing my hair and both the anticipation and the seeing it dropping out was quite traumatic for me. However CK was quite matter of fact about it all ... I remember her telling me hers was dropping out whilst she was decorating ... and that she was laughing at the fact it kept sticking to the wallpaper she was putting up ... which made me smile too ...
Now that we have finished the chemo our more recent e-mail exchanges have been about scans ... and surgery ... and radiotherapy. That was until she sent me the note to say that she was pleased as she had been for a job interview and had been successful. Obviously I read the news and was delighted for her ... but then I sat back and realised it meant a lot to me too. I felt uplifted ... but why? Why did I feel excited about someone, who I have never even met, getting a job?
Because ... for the very first time ... CK and I were celebrating something that wasn’t to do with cancer. We weren’t patting each other on the back for getting through another session of chemotherapy ... it wasn’t wishing good luck with the surgery ... or congratulating the birth of stubbly eyelash growth. No ... this was a new job ... a promotion ... we were celebrating something that ‘normal’ people do. And that made me happy ... for her ... and for me. Together we were embracing the future.
So tomorrow, whilst my friend is sitting in her kitchen ... the kitchen I have never stepped in ... celebrating her birthday ... I will be here ... many miles away ... celebrating mine ... and raising a large glass of fizz to my new found ‘twin’.
CK ... it has been a tough old journey ... and we still have a way to go ... but we are getting there.
Many happy returns to the both of us!
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