some thoughts

I always wondered how on earth people dealt with the news that they have cancer. Now I know. Or at least I am finding out.

The Armstrong books arrived yesterday, and I am half way through reading the first one, It's Not About the Bike. I won't lie. It isn't an easy read.

It's not easy to read because at this stage I know next to nothing about what I have. I don't know what I'm fighting - what type is it? Is it aggressive? Will it hurt? Or rather when will it stop hurting? I need to 'go back to school' and learn about diet, positive thinking, cancers and the drugs we have in our arsenal.

Yesterday I went out to the supermarket, and then to Nic's for a brew. It was a positive day and I was bright. More phone calls from Canada - this time Michelle, the cousin I grew up with as a sister until I was 7 and moved to the UK.

Today I woke up at 5 am in a blind panic. The pain was pretty unbearable in my left side and I went down stairs to warm the wheat-packs again.

Two things:

1. Fear: "I thought I knew what fear was, until I heard the words You have cancer. Real fear came with an unmistakable sensation: it was as though all the blood in my body started flowing in the wrong direction," writes Armstrong. How well he puts it - I can do no better. I think perhaps fear is going to be my biggest enemy. It's a hard one because it doesn't allow the mind to respond to logic once it takes hold - it cripples your thinking and leaves you cowering and gasping for breath.

So I put music on and dance now. I sing loudly. Anything to shut the fear out. I will not allow myself to be debilitated by fear, and I think Armstrong took the right approach by finding out all he could about his illness. I have decided that once the diagnosis is complete I will learn all I can about my particular case.

And then we fight.

2. Friends: What comes through in Lance Armstrong's story so far is the people he was surrounded by. People are sooooo important. The phone calls pick me up enormously, and being alone for too long is not good at all. It is difficult for me to admit, after being so independent, that I need everyone's support beyond measure. How do people survive this? Because they have support. Because they stay positive and they can only stay positive by having positive people around, constantly reminding you that this is going to be ok.

3. Mind: I know I said 2 things, but this is equally important. My mind tries its best to stay off topic - forget about things for a while. But half way through a film, you think, "I wonder how bad chemo will be?" At dinner time, mid swallow, you think, "I don't want to die." At bed time I imagine the tumour shrinking, being washed away like an island being eroded by the sea.
"Please go away," I tell it. "You really can't stay in here because you are hurting this body, and this body chooses to live."

This is bloody ridiculous. I haven't asked "Why me?" because there's no point. Why anyone? And no anger. I have no one to be angry at. There's just sadness and fear, and a hoping, wishing, praying, trying to believe-ing that this is all going to turn out fine, and I'll look back in 20 years and laugh at the absurdity of it all!

So... keep it coming - the success stories, the words of comfort, the pull-yourself-togethers, the fight fight fight thises - I need 'em all.