What we don't talk about when we talk about cancer

1 minute read time.

FormerMember

14 Sep 2011

While I'm waiting to go into hospital - probably; the Churchill seems to be at complete cross-purposes with what we were originally told - I'm going to say a couple of things you're not supposed to say.

#1: Why me?!

The obvious answer is 'why not?' But, in theory, I should have been a low cancer risk. There's no family history. I haven't smoked in over 20 years, and then it was only the odd social drag in the pub. I don't drink a lot, I eat healthily - mainly vegetarian - I'm not hugely overweight, I used to walk a lot and do yoga and Zumba.

I'm not saying that people who do tick those boxes deserve it, that would be stupid. Nobody deserves it. I'm just ... surprised, I guess. Maybe I was just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Better me than a lot of people, it's true: I don't have kids, or a glittering career. But I don't have to like it.

#2: I am absolutely shite scared.

You aren't supposed to admit this. You're supposed to be Brave and Cheerful. Well, sorry. I'm not scared of dying, so much (I'm not thrilled about it either), but I know that both the illness and the treatment are going to hurt like hell and the best I can hope for is to be as unconscious as possible, as much as possible.

Yes, I am a wuss. The truth is out.

To be fair, I might be less scared if I had more confidence in the hospital. They're supposed to be very good, but I haven't seen much evidence of it so far. They've been leaving me hanging for weeks at a time; then two departments both wanted me in for treatment at the same time; and this morning they phoned with completely conflicting instructions from the ones we were given on Monday. Is it any wonder I'm worried?

Anyway: if they sort themselves out, this will be my last post for a few days. Thank you again to everyone who sent good wishes. If prayers and hugs and positive thoughts could cure cancer, I'd be bouncing about like a wee spring lamb by now. Please keep them coming!

And if anyone local could spare the time to visit me, that would be best of all. It's going to be pretty damn miserable in there.

FormerMember over 12 years ago

Hilary, how wonderful to be able to write so honestly, I totally know where you are. That is the great thing about this site, but until recently I did not grasp it, people like you have shown me I need to use this site more to clear the mind mess.

Wishing you so much luck!!!!!!

p.s. The only Churchill I know is a place on the way to Weston-Super-Mud. Little My stole my best line lol!

Tim x
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FormerMember over 12 years ago

Hi Hilary

Sounds like 2 very normal reactions to a cancer diagnosis.

Mine were very similar, though after giving up smoking 20 years ago, I started again about 3 or 4 years ago in a moment of weakness while very stressed. However, the cancer has probably been around a lot longer than that, so I didn't waste too much time beating myself up. I did go through a phase of noticing other fat, smoking middle-aged women and wondering why me when so many others don't pay this high a price for their lifestyle choices. Like you, I've never done anything that would make someone seek me out to write my biography, but I value my life and the people in it.

I was doing everything I could to look after myself up until Mags diagnosis. That was easily the lowest point of my life, and it still hurts to see her having to cope with this shit too! I went from being a gym bunny (albeit still a bit overweight) eating a very healthy vegetarian diet and doing everything I could to minimise the symptoms of transition into middle age and the menopause, to a couch potato, taking up smoking again and eating whatever came to hand. Now I'm trying really hard to turn it all around again, to at least feel like I'm doing everything I can to stay well.

Cancer was always on the cards for me, as both my parents died of it. I'm just shocked it came so soon. My Dad was 75 when he died and my Mum 66 and they both lost parents to this awful disease too. If it had happened later in life, I think I could have adjusted. Like you, it's not just the thought of dying, it's the process of getting to that point, which scares me.

I still feel scared before each chemo so I don't sleep more than a couple of hours and my blood pressure goes sky high. It did for the last one, and the one I had yesterday, so I'm going to the GP to get it checked next week, to make sure it's just a stress reaction! The administration is the least of it though, it's waiting to see how the side-effects will make me feel that is hardest to take. But I shouldn't complain because at least I know now that it's working!

I hope things go as well for you too. Whatever they get up to in the hospital, I hope it makes you feel better. I really wish I could come and visit but I have a feeling the Churchhill is in Engerlund and I live in Scotchland, so all I can do is send lots of positive vibes and hugs, and wish you well.

PLease let us know how you get on, when you get the chance.

Lots of love, Ann x

Lots of love, Ann x
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FormerMember over 12 years ago

Thank you, everyone!

All you ever hear - especially at cancer funerals - is 'brave and cheerful, brave and cheerful'. Well: my guess is that the person with the cancer was keeping up that brave face, maybe partly to try to convince themselves, but mainly for their friends and family: to stop them being any more upset and worried than they already are. Like that'll work! But, it's what we do, even when things are shite: we try to think of other people too.

I, however, am a wimp. Sad, but true!

*hugs*

- Hilary

xxx
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