Well, it's Christmas Eve and another Christmas nearly over, thank goodness. At least we've got the 'run-up to Christmas' behind us now. It seems to go on for ever and ever these days - a month or more when we're expected to be excited, jolly, anticipatory, full of fun etc etc. And now we've entered a fortnight of enforced inactivity because the country practically closes down for what is laughingly called the 'festive' period.
So, do I sound like a Scrooge? And if so, why? There are people over in the incurables group who know, or assume, that they are approaching their last Christmas, and most of them seem resolved to make it as fun a time as possible, surrounded by family and friends, pulling crackers and party poppers, and stuffing themselves with turkey and mince pies with the best of them. I admire these people more than I can say, but I can't share their attitude.
So why am I not like them? I think this might well be my last Christmas, and that simply fills me with gloom. Why should it make me determined to be happy? I don't feel happy, my dear husband doesn't feel happy either. Actually, we feel b ****y miserable this year. And the Christmas cards don't help. You know the ones where the sender has written 'have a wonderful Christmas!' (these are people who know that I'm ill). Sorry, what's wonderful about it? Why don't they stop to think about how that might strike us? How can we have a wonderful Christmas with the sword of Damocles hanging over our heads? The more sensitive correspondents say something like 'we hope you have a pain-free Christmas', or a 'cosy and quiet Christmas'. Life is not a lot of fun at the moment - pain-free, cosy and quiet is probably the best I can aim for. I am not receiving treatment just now, and my feeling is that the cancer has spread quite a bit since the last scan. I'm in some pain (not a lot); have continuing and awful bowel issues so that some days I can't leave the bathroom; and I am excruciatingly tired most of the time so that my activities are very limited. It occurred to me today that this combination of conditions, shared by many cancer patients, is another sort of PTSD. Instead of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, we have Pain, Tiredness, Stress and Diarrhoea. This PTSD has made me feel quite depressed in recent days, and I've had some crying jags and periods of feeling like I just don't want to carry on like this.
I have a scan booked, finally, for 29th December, and will be seeing my consultant on 8th January. I don't know what will happen at that appointment - depends on the results of the scan, I guess. We were discussing chemo last time, but at present I really don't feel well enough to undergo chemo. We'll have to see what the consultant advises.
Having had my little rant about Christmas, John and I are making a token effort. We have put up a Christmas tree and hung a wreath on the front door, bought a turkey and Brussels sprouts on a stalk, wrapped presents and put them under the tree, and hung up some fairy lights and displayed the Christmas cards (even the 'wonderful Christmas' ones). I even sent John out today to buy some cheap red wine and cinnamon sticks so we can have mulled wine and mince pies while we open the presents. We will be spending Christmas Day on our own. We had been invited by one of John's daughters and also by a very kind friend and her family to join them for the Christmas meal, but neither of us feels that we would add to the general jollity of the occasion - in fact, rather the reverse. Also, I feel safer at home, bathroom-wise. We will be seeing John's other daughter, partner and the granddaughters later, but not on the day itself. I know that the phone will be ringing all day long with family and friends checking up on us, so we won't exactly be lonely.
So it only remains for me to wish all my readers a happy and peaceful Christmas, and even a wonderful one if they are so inclined!
