Crazy

The best medicine for this crazy journey is friends. No doubt about that. I mean, just look at us. Alison and me hamming it up, falling about, just as we did when we were teenagers. I didn't even have a drop to drink. Honest. And don't you just love that recut wig? Looks just like the 'real' me, doesn't it? And now I am learning to love my turbans too.



But seriously, let's get back to the cancer stuff.

The sad news is that our friend Margaret Avery did die a few days after I wrote about her in this blog. Margaret was 4ft 11" small, with the heart of a giant. I remember the day Suky, Charlie (as we called Margaret then) and I were hanging out in Trafalgar square in London one day in the early 1960s and saw preparations for a meeting by some group called the British Nationalist Party. Being very political, Charley and Suky went in like sniffer dogs to see what was going on. Well, wouldn't you know, it was the British Nazi party. When they told us that they are for "Britain for the British", my knees started knocking and I was ready to leave. "I'm out of here, let's go," I said, but Charley and Suky said no, let's wait a while. So, we did. And when the big (6ft+) gorillas on either side of us clapped and hollered at the most disgusting xenophobic speech I have ever heard, Charlie put herself in the Chinese 'horse standing stance' and with her tiny hands on her tiny hips started to boo so loud that even people on stage could hear her. You should have seen those goons turn on her. But Charlie was oblivious. She knew what was right and wrong and she just stood her ground for what was right. Yes, of course we mnaged to drag her off, but I learned a big lesson that day. You don't have to be tall to stand tall. Thanks Charlie, for being my friend and may you rest in peace.

Me, I've got a lot more living to do and I hope that by going through this awful ordeal now, I will be spared Mrgaret's agony of the past few years. My counsellor asked me last Thursday whether I was angry? Angry at what, I wanted to know. I truly don't feel angry. Over the years of working in science labs, surrounded by fumes and radioactive isotopes we now know to be carcinogenic (not to mention my 25 years of smoking), my choice to have HRT, and my possible Ashkenazy genetic inheritance, it's really hard to point a finger to a specific cause, except maybe myself. Well, the last thing I need is to beat up on myself, so I don't think being angry is of any use at all. I sometimes feel sorry for myself, like hey, why me, but that comes from somewhere else, not the place of anger. So, no, I am not angry. But I do need the counsellor to ask me those difficult questions, so I can stay focused on staying healthy mentally.

For example, she asked me if I was ready for the last chemo. I was quite surprised by the vehemence in my voice, when I just shot out that 'NO! It's so awful, I will never be ready for it. I will manage it, but I will never get used to it, or be ready for it. And then the piece de resistance happened, I freaked out when we discussed the upcoming radiation therapy. I didn't realise just how scared I actually am about that. It has to do with my longstanding fear of radiation and having witnessed my dear friend Nirmala losing her quality of life when she was burned on the neck by radiation therapy. OK, so that was almost 20 years ago, but she lived another 15 years not being able to taste proper food, because her neck was messed up. So, you will not be surprised that when the counsellor suggested another meeting in 2 weeks, I immediately asked for one next week. I can't afford to lose my positive attitude to fear. My positive attitude nothing to do with being brave, but rather it's a case of pragmatic necessity.

Before the last chemo I was talking with another patient about our positive attitudes. She has advanced cancer and as far as I can discern, she is even more positive the me, and her prognosis is not good. She was telling me that just that day she was told she had more spots on her liver and her daughter was off organising more scans. We were patiently waiting for our poison potion and swapping jokes, when we started talking about how much more difficult this cancer can be for the families and loved ones, than for the patient. She put it in a very succint way. She said: "I can't look back. I can only look forward."

That's exactly it. We, who are in the middle of it all, we can't think too far ahead. We need to live every day according to our ability and we can't allow anything to drag us down. When her daughter returned, it was obvious that she has been crying her eyes out and I felt very sorry for her, but understood the mother very well.

Perhaps this will give some idea of what this really is like. I may smile and look brave, but I don't feel brave. I just live each moment on the relative upbeat in the hope that when I falter, the fall won't be too far. It's OK for you guys to worry about me, thanks very much, but I think your 'admiration' is misplaced. I think all cancer patients who survive, must make this choice to look positively at their situation. Like Diane, my new friend in cancer said, 'it's the only choice we have'.

With Ildi at the Opera House and with Alison and her daughter Sally in the 'Bush'. (They walked, I read my book in the shade like a good grandma should -:)


Thank you Ildi, Alison and Sally for being such a joy and making the last two chemos so much more bearable!