Distractions

All in all, despite everything, it has been a lovely weekend. My sister and her husband visited from Gloucestershire, we had a BBQ, tired the children out, and I have actually had a chance to spend some time with my husband. Much needed too, after this week.

Tomorrow, I shall go to work, which will be another welcome distraction and try and resume some normality at least for a few days.

I also have to telephone the hospital to chase up my next surgical appointment - I really really need a date to work to. Not only do I have various work commitments coming up, but it will also be better for me from an emotional point of view if I have a date, and a plan.

What's the song Dory sings in finding Nemo? Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming? Something like that. 

Well, my version is a bit different: Just keep living, living, living. 

Scared as I am, I cannot afford to let this disease get a grip on me in any way. I refuse to give in to it either mentally or physically. I refuse to let fear paralyse me and make me, for the want of a better word, impotent, in terms of failing to make the most of what I have right here, right now otherwise what's the point? 

I have been battling all weekend to try and ascertain how I feel. A friend of mine, who is a Doctor at GOSH and specialist in palliative care asked me very directly how I felt about having had a breast removed and how I feel about the scar.

This is something I have been avoiding thinking about since the operation, truth be told so it was a bit of a shock to suddenly have to think about it and answer a question, and I don't think I did so adequately. I still haven't really come to terms with it but on the surface at leastI accepted the fact that the breast had to go very quickly - a means to an end and a cure, we hoped. 

So, how do I feel about it? Sad and angry. Sore, upset, and of course, scared. Do I feel like I have been "mutilated". Well, a bit, yes. After all, my scar is over eight inches in length and although it is healing well it isn't exactly pretty. What is getting me through it? Have I said I'm cross? 

It's not just anger getting me through of course, not by any means. My wonderful husband, my fabulous children, my friends, my family, my list of things I want to do, my horses, my dogs, my life in general. I am damn well going to fight for all of this.

The disfigurement is going to be temporary, as is the pain. I don't like needles, but I can learn to live with them. The business that I have built up over the last twelve months will, hopefully, not suffer too much - I have great staff who I can hopefully back up and guide from home. I am very lucky in that my family situation is very strong and whilst I am worried about the effect all my treatment will have on my children, they are extremely strong individuals (already, at two and four!) and I have to believe they will be fine.

Hopefully I don't sound like I am trying too hard to talk myself into believing all of the above. At the bottom of my heart I do believe it, but the quaking in my boots is a bit distracting. It's almost like the damn disease is whispering at me. I am working very hard to tune that whispering out, to put the fear in a box and shut the lid, to keep my head above water. 

I will definitely benefit from being at work for a few days, finding distractions to keep me otherwise occupied and trying to feel normal. If nothing else, if I am at home for much longer. I will end up finding another DIY project - and we already have plumbers and electricians coming in next week as it is..... My husband might not forgive me if I starting changing anything else.

Just keep living, living, living....