Wednesday, 17 February: I can’t quite believe I’ve been writing these cancer diary updates for almost half a year and it’s longer than that since the tumour in my lung was first detected. My time on earth would be almost up by now if I’d decided not to have treatment for the cancer, which is a strange thought.
What I also find strange is the pain on swallowing; the acid reflux, the ‘sunburned’ skin and the astonishingly tenacious fatigue are not caused by the cancer, but by the treatment. I’m trying not to think about the side effects of radiation that can start weeks, months or even years after radiotherapy – things like acute radiation pneumonitis. Stranger still is the fact no one – absolutely no one – knows what the cancer is doing. And we won’t know until around mid-April.
At least the side effects are continuing to wear off although energy levels aren’t back to what they were. I still struggle to visit all the blogs I follow so apologies if I’ve not been leaving comments as I used to – my brain seems to work more slowly and most of a day can disappear – same with replying to emails. I’m sure I will return to ‘normal service’ in time so bear with me if I don’t reply straight away.
I’ve also put a wee toe into the work pool again. I’ve been asked to do a workshop and a talk online. I wasn’t sure at first, especially when I was feeling so tired and guilty at not having time for everyone’s blogs and emails and messages. In the end, though, the appeal of doing something ‘normal’ – as normal as online instead of face to face can be – was too strong to resist. I’ll share the details in a post soon.
The weather hasn’t always been great for walks. There have been days when keeping warm meant wearing so many layers of clothing I resemble the Michelin Man made me wimp out and stay at home. I’ve managed some walks and some tidying in the garden.
Every year I love to see lambs appear in the fields. My son always laughed at my excitement on seeing the first ones – but for me it wasn’t only seeing cute it was the wonderful feeling of having come through the darkness of another winter. This year, my delight at seeing my first lambs was tempered a little with the thought this may be the last year I am able to relish the feeling of having survived another winter.
It’s not a maudlin thought. It doesn’t depress me. At the start of last September I wasn’t sure if I’d see snowdrops this year, or lambs. Now, I think I probably will see the daffodils flower in my garden and maybe even the apple blossom and smell the roses.