Would you have thought that a cancer patient, who was undergoing chemotherapy, could carry out an entirely normal Saturday? I wouldn't have. Cancer, and more so chemotherapy, were death sentences. Figuratively if not literally. My perception was the sick, bald, sad person with their head in a toilet bowl for months, slowly wasting away and getting paler and sicker. I am under no illusions and know that this can sometimes unfortunately be the case. It is not however the only possibility. One in three people reading this have been, or will one day be, diagnosed with cancer. One of the goals of this blog is to make that day a little less scary. Cancer, tumor, chemotherapy, radiation, prognosis, survival, relapse, these are scary words. They will consume your every thought if you allow them to. Don't allow them to, life goes on.
Today, my fabulous friends proved once again that they are indeed fabulous. They arrived at 10am armed with brekkie. Once we had munched our way through delicious granola, yogurt, berries, scones, tea and juice, we headed out for a couple of hours of shopping. Shoes, jewellery, sunglasses, homewares, presents and head scarves later we got back to the house for a little rest before we head out for an early dinner at 6. How can such an average day to most people be so so fun to me? Because I hadn't thought it would be possible. I thought I was doomed to a minimum of 6 months of life on hold. Not to mention the possibility of being the dreaded 1 in 10 who doesn't respond to chemo in this time. While I won't pretend that NO aspects of life are on hold (holidays and work being the most noteworthy), or that the fear of being that 1 in 10 doesn't maintain a permanent residence in my brain, or that there aren't days where I would give anything to just be someone else for a few months, life does indeed go on. And it's fun too.
Without cancer today would seem like any other day. I would not be appreciative of this day or anything it brought. The ability to see each and every day for what it is - borrowed time, a limited resource, something that will eventually run out - is a gift. Make the most of it while it's here. Do I sound like a crazy person yet? Or stoned at least? Probably. But maybe one day you'll understand what I mean.
Today, my fabulous friends proved once again that they are indeed fabulous. They arrived at 10am armed with brekkie. Once we had munched our way through delicious granola, yogurt, berries, scones, tea and juice, we headed out for a couple of hours of shopping. Shoes, jewellery, sunglasses, homewares, presents and head scarves later we got back to the house for a little rest before we head out for an early dinner at 6. How can such an average day to most people be so so fun to me? Because I hadn't thought it would be possible. I thought I was doomed to a minimum of 6 months of life on hold. Not to mention the possibility of being the dreaded 1 in 10 who doesn't respond to chemo in this time. While I won't pretend that NO aspects of life are on hold (holidays and work being the most noteworthy), or that the fear of being that 1 in 10 doesn't maintain a permanent residence in my brain, or that there aren't days where I would give anything to just be someone else for a few months, life does indeed go on. And it's fun too.
Without cancer today would seem like any other day. I would not be appreciative of this day or anything it brought. The ability to see each and every day for what it is - borrowed time, a limited resource, something that will eventually run out - is a gift. Make the most of it while it's here. Do I sound like a crazy person yet? Or stoned at least? Probably. But maybe one day you'll understand what I mean.
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