I seem to be in a never ending storm of feeling blue, tired, run down, fed up, lonely and sad and I’m having a tough time finding the sunshine again.
Life hasn’t quite worked out how I expected it to and I do have a tendency to walk the harder path (i.e. drop out of uni, then have to work up the career ladder from the bottom) but I didn’t plan to walk a path on the edge of a cliff, with loose boulders that could fall away at any time.
I am the sort of person that overthinks things in my life, they go round and round in my head till they either fizzle away or become a huge issue. Blogging has become one way for me to offload those thoughts and help me move on. Occasionally though, I do something without thinking about it and it’s only afterwards that it hits me. This happened the other day.
Dear Mum. There is so much I want to say that is hard to verbalise so I hope you accept this letter to you.
I hear from people that they are sick of reading about cancer in the papers and surely everyone knows everything about cancer by now? Then a story comes along that makes you realise you can never say there isn’t enough publicity.
Living with secondary breast cancer means there is a certain inevitability to having chemotherapy multiple times. Chemotherapy can be a real double edged sword; good as it really can work well and give you more of that most precious of things… time, but bad because each time it makes you feel more ill than you did before.
My life living with secondary breast cancer means that every day is like New Year, every day I have to pledge to live that day better than the last.
I could not walk this secondary breast cancer road without my family and friends supporting me and holding my hand. They are the people I cry on, the people who accompany me to appointments and the people that I am fighting to stay alive for.
What’s that new pain? Where is it? How bad is it? What type of pain is it? How long has it been hurting? It’s the last question that becomes the most pertinent when living with secondary breast cancer. If it’s been more than 48 hours then it’s time to call the hospital and get their guidance.
When you are living with an incurable form of cancer as I am, you can’t help but think and plan for the end of your life. When I was at my sickest and we didn’t know if I would see the year out planning for the end was vital, my will was being written and I was talking to friends and family about my wishes – all things a 36-year-old as I was, shouldn’t have to think about.
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