It’s strange really. I feel fine (ish). I have a constant dull ache in my lower back and am definitely getting tired more easily, but to look at me you would never know I was ill.
But I am ill. I have cancer. Advanced Cervical Cancer.
I’m just saying it again. In short sentences.
I’ve got my head around it now. I know there are many people I know who haven’t yet. Or they haven’t got their head around how serious it could be. Or they haven’t got their head around how ill the treatment/surgery is going to make me.
Some people have been fantastically amazing. It seems to be the people who have more than a nodding aquaintance with cancer. Like myself they have lost a loved one, or seen someone close fight it. They know that cancer is real. It doesn’t go away even if you pretend it’s not there. They treat you as normal, it is what is most helpful right now. Other people have been notable in their absence. I suppose they can’t handle it.
Undoubtedly the hardest thing is dealing with others emotions. My closest friends and family are in pieces. I have a 12 year old son, who is going through the wringer. My Mum is in bits.
Close friends and family have cried, some in front of me, some in private.
It’s a shitter.
So today I had a day ‘off’.
I went to the pub and met some old friends. Then drove up to my old London stomping ground and watched a football match. I’m not a huge football supporter, but know enough to enjoy a game. I love the atmosphere at a big match. All that testosterone!
I embarrassed my brother by parking my car next to the police horse boxes then asking the Met police horsebox driver to ‘keep an eye on my car’ so it didn’t get towed! (He did and it didn’t!) Chatting with mounted officers about how I took one of my old classes down to see the horses at Hammersmith nick. Generally, feeling right at home in the dreadful New years day rain on the streets of London.
Had a great time at the match. Was very well behaved! Could not believe they don’t chant ‘Who’s that wanker in the black?’ anymore. I was looking forward to that.
Drove back to Surrey on the A3 past more old haunts. More old memories. Back down the ‘local’ to see even more old faces.
It was a day where I forgot I was a Mum just for a few hours. A mum of a son who is 12 and whose heart is breaking. When his heart breaks mine does too.
And there is absolutely nothing I can promise him.
That is the hardest thing of all.