It’s the 28th
October 2014 – last day of radiotherapy, last day of treatment. I’m sitting in
the little flat in Brighton overlooking the ocean wondering how to write this
blog post. It’s not an easy one. For the last few days I’ve been getting phone
calls, texts, emails… of joy, excitement, congratulations that I’m ‘at the end’.
Somehow I don’t share these feelings though, even though I appreciate the love
and support, as ever, and even though I’m relieved in many respects to be at
the end of treatment…
I had my final
appointment with my oncologist yesterday. When I say final appointment I mean
the final one that I’ll have during treatment. I’ll continue to see him for
‘check-ins’ when appropriate. I say check-ins as opposed to check-ups because I
found out yesterday that as far as he’s concerned I’m cured. He said he can’t
absolutely guarantee that but he has now put me in the cured box unless
anything in the future indicates otherwise. Obviously this is good news. The
hard part is that there’s nothing that they can do to ‘check-up’ on me over the
coming months or years. Having had the bi-lateral mastectomy there’s no chance
of tumours recurring the breasts – obviously… they’re gone. Then, checking the
rest of the body for any spread through full body scans is not what they
routinely do, unless something abnormal was to show its face. This, I found a
difficult concept to get my head around and it triggered off every difficult
feeling I have about coming to the end of treatment. I’ve read about how ‘the
end’ is often an anti-climax and can be very hard for patients but hadn’t,
before now, had the experience of it.
Those few that have
been around me have seen how hard treatment has been, especially surgery and
chemotherapy. And those of you that have been keeping in touch via my blog or
other means have probably also seen or felt the intensity of the process. This
I cannot deny. There’s something rather weird that surfaced yesterday though
about the safety in treatment. However tough it is (and don’t let me undermine
that) I didn’t realise there is also comfort in it. There’s no chance really
(as far as I understand) that cancer can grow during it (chemotherapy). So now
I find myself being ‘let off the leash’ and into the unknown – no treatment, no
proper check-ups, just me.
There’s an interesting
paradox in it all, which I wouldn’t have guessed before recent days. Someone
said a couple of days ago how nice it will be for me not going in to hospital
for an appointment every five minutes. Of course that’s true. Without a doubt I
wouldn’t wish to continue with all of that. Hospitals, journeys to and from the
hospitals, appointments and treatments are grim. But… in many respects you’re
in someone else’s hands. I’m now in my own hands again and that responsibility
seems hard.
I guess the hard part
is the mind. It seems obsessed with the negative. I’ve been told that I’m now
in the ‘cured box’ as far as my oncologist in concerned but the fact that that
can’t be guaranteed, or checked, is what mind wraps itself around and gives me
grief about. It’s not even vaguely compelled by the fact that I’m likely to be
cured – what a blessing.
So… the onward journey
is about learning the stay afloat in the ocean of fear that the mind presents.
They say in the yogic teachings that by looking at the fear face-on, not
pretending that it’s not there, is what gets you through it. A bit like when
you put a fist of pressure on a knot in your back – it has no choice but to
release eventually. Being scared of the return of the cancer is something that
I must now live with, but the gift in that is that I get the opportunity to learn to overcome it. Imagine life,
when fear doesn’t get in the way! There’d be no stopping me. And that’s what I
strive for. It is my hope, my sincere hope, that I learn to understand the
patterns of fear, and see it each time it arises, before I sink into it. It’s a
game I will play with my own mind and it is that which will determine the
quality of my life from now on in.
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I guess on that note I
draw (at least, this part of) my blog to a close. Maybe I’ll continue to use
this space as a means to communicate my onward journey. Maybe I won’t. But
ultimately, here’s hoping…praying… that this space, if and when used, is used
through growing health. I want to thank you all for the support and love that
you’ve given me so far on this journey. I’m ridiculously blessed to have you
all by my side. Love love xxx
