A Year Ago Today

I’ve just been outside in to the garden and did a workout under the bright blue sky, bathed in sunshine; I currently feel the fittest and healthiest I have for a long time. I’ve even achieved something this morning that I haven’t been able to do…ever! Touch my toes!! Why am I telling you this? To let you know Cancer doesn’t have to be the end, it doesn’t have to negatively effect your life in the long run. Whether you are going through it yourself or know someone who is, either starting to tackle that mammoth challenge that lies ahead or the finish line is in sight, just know there is light at the end of the tunnel.

A year ago today I received the news that I had cancer. It seems a dim and distant memory in one way, but in another it’s as clear as a bell. You watch the Macmillan adverts where a doctor is telling someone they have cancer, never expecting it to be you. Some say they don’t remember what the doctor said or the world went all fuzzy. I didn’t really have any of that. The week before, the doctor had said he didn’t like the look of it but we had to wait for the test results and that’s when I knew it was cancer. But I accepted it, no denial stage, I just thought OK, let’s get on with it. The worst bit was waiting for the team to come up with an action plan. They originally said I would have surgery and radiotherapy, but a CT scan showed it being bigger than they thought, so chemotherapy was thrown in to the mix too. That produced a few tears; I thought I was getting away with not having it. But once there was a timeline in place it was a lot easier to deal with. The hardest bit was telling people. Especially, the kids I coach at my running club. I hadn’t thought that would be so emotional. But obviously, everyone was fantastic and rallied round for the entire duration.

With all this time on our hands I can’t help but reflect slightly. I was outside earlier, laying on my mat looking up at the sky. The sun was dappling through the branches and leaves above. Instantly, I was taken back to the radiotherapy ward where everyday in December I lay on the machine, staring at the back-lit image on the ceiling above. It was a picture of the sun dappling through the leaves of a tree. On the first visit I thought how nice it was, as when you walk in the room it’s so unexpected. It’s not until you lie on your back on the machine that you even know these images are up there. As the trips progressed, it became a familiar constant amongst the changing faces of staff and the worsening state of my skin. A reassuring splash of colour in an otherwise world of grey and white. But by the end, I was desperate to not see it again, longing for the day where I didn’t have to drive to Peterborough, fight over a car parking space, sit for an hour in the waiting room and then lay under even more radiation staring at those leaves. An artificial reminder to the real life alternative, up there mocking me day after day. Then it all suddenly came to an end on January the 10th, an unassuming culmination of the process. It was my favourite two guys on duty that day who were so lovely and congratulatory at the end. Then I walked out. That was it. No more treatment required. You feel like you’ve earned some sort of fanfare or party but the sad thing is, to them it’s everyday life. My fight with cancer may be over but theirs isn’t.

Instead, a celebratory glass of wine with with my husband and parents, followed by a well-timed farewell meal with friends from my running club definitely helped to mark the occasion perfectly.

During treatment you just focus on getting through and what you’re going to do once life is back to normal. But you don’t actually give thought to the end. To the last day. Or the following month. When you’re in a slight limbo. No longer a cancer patient, but not yet back to your old self. I’m inpatient. I wanted to be back to how I was before, but the realist in me accepted that would take a while.

A very bizarre moment came over me on the journey home from the hospital after my penultimate radiotherapy session. On January 9th. I was on my own, listening to music playing through my phone, which is quite unusual for me. But for some reason I put a playlist on that I hadn’t listened to in years, no idea why. I was driving along with tears streaming down my eyes listening to one song in particular. I had no option but to listen to the lyrics; no distractions. The tears were part sadness, part relief, part joy. Sadness for the year that had come before, months of my life spent in bed, in hospital, on the sofa, avoiding the sun, not doing the things I loved. Relief that I’m actually OK. I’m out the other side, unscathed in the grand scheme of things, with the opportunity to make up for that lost time. And joy; joy for the wonderful things in my life. All the things that you learn to appreciate even more than you did before. The song I was listening to was ‘Brand New Day’ by Joshua Radin. If you need something to do today, find somewhere quiet, away from your family, take a few minutes for yourself and really listen to the words. I don’t expect it to have the same effect on you as it did on me, everyone is different. But if it gives you a few moments of peace where you can reflect on the ups and downs of life’s journey and be grateful for something then you’ll be better off than a few moments before.

It was around that time I decided to write an online journal and needed a name, after listening to that song it was obvious what it should be.