31 July 2012
Your arrival was confirmed just before Christmas, not quite the present I was hoping for. Get well platitudes sent by snail and ether. Much easier than facing the girl with cancer. It’s just a word, one of them told me.
A lonely Christmas passed in a blur, the nightmares increasing as the surgery date came closer What if they’d not found it when they did? By now, we’d be having a very different conversation he said.
All geared up and in my support stockings I was ready to go. “She’s so brave, she’s so strong.” They had no idea, I just did as I was told. No-one saw the fear, just the witty Facebook updates to reassure absent relatives. Surgical puns and happy emoticons hid the numbing emptiness inside. Wondering how many anaesthetists see “brave” patients sobbing before their ops, saying goodbye to my loved one… just in case.
Waking up in tears, I almost choked with relief. Hours had passed and my loved one was waiting I just wanted to be home, home. But even that was falling apart.
Within weeks, I was back in hospital. I had to do it all again you see, they couldn’t be sure it hadn’t spread. When the numbing pins and needles cleared, the emptiness was replaced with dread. Knowing what to expect only made it worse. Wincing each time a staple was plucked from my throat. But hey, they now make great (slightly macabre) percussive instruments.
Next stop radiation, isolation and starvation. Having to keep away from my loved one for weeks Alone, alone, alone. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
In the meantime, trying to deal with other life matters.
2 years later and I am still here. Currently I am cancer free – yay! Facebook account is deleted, new home with loved one who is lovelier than ever. From the biopsies to the all-clear he has remained by my side. Some days I don’t even see my scars, some days my sobs still twist my guts. I look forward to the day I can look in the mirror and recognise the person smiling back at me.
A Bit Of Me • Opuss № I