We started putting books on the shelves and I am so glad we’ve got them down at last, not least because the damp was beginning to affect them. There’s some lovely art and reference books and I was showing Elis loads of things when I suddenly realised I haven’t read a book since The Kite Runner, other than self-help ones, which I never seem to finish. Mind you, The Kite Runner was so traumatic for me it’s not surprising, but I do want to read again. I want to be able to discuss books and films, which I never go and see, and go to the theatre. When was the last time I went to the theatre?
I feel another belated resolution coming on. I will resolve to go to the theatre and cinema and basically take in a bit more culture. I am starting a diet tomorrow; I have been eating crap since Christmas, I cannot stop eating crisps, and if there is any chocolate anywhere near me, it’s gone within minutes. I can feel I’ve put on weight, so I want to lose it before our sun-drenched holiday.
There is also one other reason for wanting to lose weight; namely, it is very difficult to pull off the Kylie-looking-fabulous-with-short-hair-look if you have a double chin. Kylie looked good in those headscarves – and believe me I have been around enough women cancer patients to know this is a very difficult look to pull off.
On me they look hideous, no matter what colour they are or how I tie them. They only just cover my head – as it is so big – and they just don’t suit me. Now Kylie is elfin, she has the face and the features that can carry off a headscarf and the same beautiful face and features that can carry off that ‘very short hair look’ without people immediately thinking, Oh my God, that person has had cancer.
I think if you have very short hair and don’t have the face for it, people think one of two things: cancer or lesbian. I have nothing against lesbians, who rank among some of my very good friends, but there is a stereotypical idea that they do go around with very short hair.
My hair is well over an inch in length, BUT it is very thin and mostly grey. I am hoping that when the chemo finishes, the bits without hair will start filling out and it won’t be long then until I can take off my wig. It’s one thing having very short grey hair, BUT having short grey hair AND being fat is really not the post-cancer look I was aiming for.
I am thinking more fragile and beautiful but radiant at the same time – in fact, I have just described Kylie. Although my wig has been very good for me, I really do want my hair back. I keep dreaming that I wake up and I can comb my own hair. I don’t really mind about it being short and I will put a henna dye on it – as you can’t use any other dye.
I figure very short hair and very bright lipstick. Bright lipstick covers a multitude of sins. I will treat myself to one of those expensive designer ones that stay on all day, even in a force ten gale.
Rhodri is doing a documentary on jazz musician Al Bowlly – I have never heard of him – and has been thinking of angles to approach him. That’s what you do in documentary-making, well, that’s what you are supposed to do but I have worked in the industry long enough to know that some people still don’t have a bloody clue. If you find yourself switching over when you are watching one, it is usually because there is no narrative to the documentary. Anyway, I have done some internet research on him for Rhodri as I was bored and I used to be a researcher and want to impress my husband with factoids I have gathered. Dennis Potter was influenced by Bowlly, who died in the London Blitz in 1941. The upshot of my research is that I have felt my brain is stirring and getting into gear, and I have found work can be quite interesting. So I have Al Bowlly and Rhodri to thank for that.
January 15, Monday
Saw Deborah this morning, my last appointment. I told her I hadn’t had much time for existential angst as I had been too busy, and wasn’t sure what I could talk about, forgetting completely that I had been ill and crying after my last chemo. Ah, the mind is a great healer. It also has a way of playing tricks on you because nine days ago I couldn’t get out of bed and by now I had forgotten how that had made me feel.
I talked about getting on with my life; I felt I was ready to move on. She said (more or less) that I diminished my experiences often, and she is right: I always say there is someone worse off than me, someone with a worse cancer, or someone who has experienced terrible tragedy in their life, like the loss of a child, and that I feel that my suffering could not be on a par with that.
That does have some truth BUT she is also right that I do have a serious illness and I should be easier on myself. I suppose going to see her has made me understand how I have tried to trivialise my illness, and also, being so poorly after my last chemo, has made me aware that I am vulnerable and I need to confront the seriousness of what has happened to me.
There is a small dark place in my mind where this exists: the horrible truth of the enormity of having cancer. It is such a terrifying place that to visit and confront it in one go would have been too much for me. I have to open that door very slowly, and confront some of those feelings very slowly, but at least now I am opening the door.
I have asked Deborah if I can see her again in a few months. I think that she can help me a bit later on, when I have finished my treatment. I’ll have had time to reflect upon things more then. In many ways I feel I have only begun to scratch the surface of my emotions and feelings; I want to make sure that I come out the other end of this with a more open mind, not one that I am closing down.
January 16, Tuesday
Welsh class today. I have done absolutely zero work for it, but have, however, decided to enter myself for the exam. It covers the first thirty units of the course (half of it) and you either have a pass or fail. I’m rather hoping it will be a pass. If I enter for the exam, it means that I will have to pull my finger out; actually sit down and learn the first thirty units and also go to two revision days. This way, I might begin to seriously apply myself to learning the language. Rhodri picked Elis up to do music practice and homework as Miss Fran is coming early tonight. It is painful to hear them – I know how dentists feel – it’s like pulling teeth.
January 17, Wednesday
Had acupuncture with Rosie. My period has started a week early, so I’m now definitely all up the Swanee. It’s beginning to get as bad as it was at Christmas, but it’s not there yet. I’m hoping that that was a blip and this next one will not be as bad. Pip came round with a birthday present for me. She thought my birthday was the nineteenth, not the twenty-ninth; it was a faux-fur hot water bottle cover and hot water bottle – perfect.
Pip has been such a great friend throughout my illness. She knows when all my chemo sessions are, is always sending me little cards and bought me a token to go and have a facial; and now a lovely gift. It’s funny because sometimes the people you least expect are the ones who are there for you. Not that I thought Pip uncaring, she is very caring, but it just shows the strength of her character that she remembers all the little things about my life and is always there. Like with Kerry, our friendship has grown so much. Kate, too; ironically enough, we have got closer since her divorce. Sarah my sister sent me this email about sisters in the sense of all women being sisters and how much you gravitate towards women as you get older. It’s true, I used to have more menfriends than women.
I showed Kerry the poem and she said she used to have more menfriends than women too, but it slowly dawned on her that she was backing the wrong horse – we both laughed a lot over this.
Having cancer is a strange thing, because before I left work there were people who I could see actively avoiding me, and the thing is, you don’t expect them to be gushing all over you, or even say anything at all, but when you can spot them tapping the button of the lift manically to try to avoid actually having to speak to you, it’s rather amusing. You feel like saying, ‘Don’t worry, it’s not catching!’
January 18, Thursday
Went out with Babs last night for a meal. I was so happy to be out of the house. I really am stir-crazy. I haven’t been out for ages and I just go a bit mad, like I did at Ian J’s on Sa
turday. Rhodri got up with the children and took them to school and I didn’t get up until ten-thirty. It was bliss. The blissful feeling didn’t last long though, for as I came downstairs I couldn’t believe my eyes: there was water pouring in through the windows and dripping in several places on the ceiling, including through the light fittings. I got a pile of towels and bowls and was saying, ‘Bloody hell!’ every time I spotted a new minor disaster. I immediately rang the builder who did the extension. They already have to come back in the summer to redo the door, and now their bloody roof is leaking! They came to have a look, but the weather was so bad they couldn’t go out. They are coming back to investigate when it has stopped raining. It is blowing a gale – next door and next-door-but-one’s fences and wall have all blown down, like dominoes. After Richard, the builder, left, the rain stopped for about half an hour and I went out to investigate. Some tiles have blown off the roof, the guttering is gone and the water is running down the side of the house into a small crack on the extension, so it’s not a dodgy extension, thankfully. Need to get a roofer to come out now.
Elis had a friend, Alex, round after school. Elis seems to think it is his duty to tell his friends that his mother is wearing a wig. I am not sure why, maybe in case it accidentally blows off, revealing me to be the bald impostor I really am. Alex was pointing at things like a chair or Scooby Doo and was asking Osh what they were, because last time he saw Osh, he couldn’t say that much. And Elis points to my head and says, ‘Osh, what’s that?’ And he goes to Alex, ‘It’s a wig Alex. My mother wears a wig,’ and continued to stress it about three times. Last time Ben, his other friend, came and we were sat at the dinner table, Elis said, ‘Why don’t you take your wig off, Mum?’ Luckily Elis’s friends don’t seem to take any notice.
January 19, Friday
I must be mental taking the Welsh exam, even though the teacher keeps stressing how ‘easy’ it is. You do have to know your treiglads and they are the work of the devil. I have not really worried that much about treiglads as I feel they will spontaneously come to me one day, but now I have to sit down and learn the bloody things. Not quite sure why I am giving myself this extra bit of stress in my life but I suppose it is a very good focus and will take my mind off impending radiotherapy. I really will have to do a concentrated bit each day.
Went to see Elis in a concert at school. His class were all playing recorders – together they sound almost bearable. He was practising at home and I said, ‘Now do it properly,’ thinking he was messing about and he said, ‘That was properly.’
I know it’s a cliché but it sounded just like someone murdering a cat. I am outwardly supportive of his recorder practice, but it is the sort of sound that really grates on my nerves. I knew that when Rhodri suggested he play it.
I met Alison K after the concert and she told me that her father has cancer – he was perfectly well one minute and the next minute they found out he had cancer. Cancer creeps up on you, it is a law unto itself. I would not have known I had cancer until it had spread, quite possibly to my other organs or until it was so big I could actually feel it, unless I had had that mammogram. It is a slow silent killer.
My grandmother had a cancerous lump weighing two pounds removed from her chest when she was in her seventies and she lived another sixteen years after that.
Alison K looked very pale. I think she is the person in the family who has to hold it all together. I said to Rhodri that we will all be there one day (meaning with major illnesses); it is just a horrible thought that you have to face these things. Then I thought, What am I talking about? I am facing it, I am there. But I guess I also mean with our parents we will become the ones who take control, that role reversal when the child becomes the parent and your mother and father let you take over because they no longer have the energy to be the parent. You suddenly have to be both child and parent at the same time; it is a heartbreaking role as you grieve for the parent and you grieve for the child.
January 20, Saturday
Rhodri took Elis to football this morning. It has at least stopped raining temporarily. We had a pizza last night and I had cava, I managed not to drink an entire bottle, there was about half a bottle left – result. Rhodri said he thought that I should not be drinking at all when I was on chemotherapy, which I did not want to hear but I did ask him the question. It’s the old story – ask him a question and he gives the answer I don’t want to hear, then I get nasty with him. I guess I have married my conscience, because he never says the thing I want to hear. I know that when I ask him something, he will give me the answer that is unspoken in my own head, but when he does, I blame him for it. So essentially I am blaming him for the things I feel that I should not be doing. He really is in a no-win situation, for he doesn’t realise that in speaking the truth, he’s on to a permanent bloody loser.
I will resolve not to ask Rhodri the questions to which I know I will not like the answer.
If I wish to have a drink, I must take that responsibility upon myself and not blame Rhodri for what I perceive to be my failings. If I don’t perceive them to be failings, I should savour the two glasses of cava, realise that life is very short and make the most of it, instead of arguing with my husband who let’s face it has to put up with me. I must be a real pain in the arse to live with even when I haven’t got cancer, so God knows what I’m like when I have.
I think that having cancer has a similar effect on your marital relationship as having a baby. Spending that stressful time together in all its goodness and all its badness makes you come out the other end a stronger couple – or you split up.
I thought that Rhodri was the one who had to grow up – and he did, he has – but it turns out I also have a bit of growing up to do. That never changes because each part of our lives, each new challenge we encounter, becoming parents, our illnesses, our parents’ illnesses, the twists and turns in our relationships, mean that we are growing up all the time. I just want to make sure that Rhodri and I will do our growing up and growing old together.
January 21, Sunday
Rhodri and Elis have invited Jonah and Jay around to watch Man U v Arsenal. I have decided that there will be too much testosterone in the house for me and Osh, and am taking him to visit my mother. I guess this is it now, I am resigned to a life with a house full of men (well, boys at the moment, but they will turn into men) who are shouting at a television screen while thirty (not sure how many men make up two football teams, but I think it is fifteen each side) kick a ball around until one team wins or draws. I am looking on the bright side though, as it means I can just go shopping by myself for the next twenty years, now that my life has been saved.
January 22, Monday
My last chemo is due next Wednesday and in my mind that has already happened. I cannot wait to be free of it – I will put up with the side-effects if I have to be in bed for four days, but I’m having acupuncture with Rosie tomorrow to see if it makes any difference. If not, I’m thinking, That’s OK – four days in bed and I never have to have it again. I want to be able to say, ‘That’s it, it’s done,’ but there is a nagging part of my mind, a tiny little bit, that says otherwise. There is a dichotomy going on in there, a little dialogue. It goes something like this. One bit says, ‘I’ll never have to have chemotherapy again, hurrah, this is my last session, I am free.’ The other little bit of my mind says, ‘Hang on a minute. Don’t get too cocky because you know people who have had to have it twice, and if you are too cocky it might come back and that would be your own fault because you were so happy that it was over that you brought it back yourself.’
So part of me wants to jump up in the air and scream, ‘Thank God that is over!’ but the other part of me says, ‘Be quiet! And if you are quiet and still and small enough, it might just forget you are there and not come back again.’
I will definitely have to see Deborah again in a few months and tell her this, as I worry, not only about this internal dialogue, but that there is a cancer type. I think I am a can
cer type, as I worry about everything, and as much as I am trying not to be like this, I am essentially Chicken Licken. I think that this constant worry inside and never getting it out, that jolly cancer victim, is an unhealthy place to be. Those things can eat away at you, and I need to have some kind of balance in my mind instead of being constantly afraid that the cancer might come back because I drank some wine or because I ate some red meat. I am forgetting my ‘be kind to myself’ motto already.
January 23, Tuesday
I was feeling a bit demob happy at coming to the end of my treatment, but there’s always someone ready to ‘piss on your chips’ as they say in the valleys. I went for blood tests today and my blood count was down so I need to have them done again tomorrow. Then I thought I would see Gill as usual and have a chat about how I was feeling, but saw another nurse and a pharmacist who came in to discuss the radiotherapy and Tamoxifen, so was a bit overawed by that.
They asked me if I had any worries and I told them that I had noticed some discharge coming out of my nipple (not the one I had the surgery on). They said it was impossible for a tumour to grow while having chemo, but they would get a doctor to examine me.
I discussed ovary removal with them and asked what their thoughts were, and they said I needed to discuss it with the doctor. Then Gill came in and said they could refer me to a gynaecologist; I was starting to get a bit freaked out by this time, as it was too much info to take in, in one go.
They enquired why I wanted my ovaries removed and I said I was terrified of getting pregnant and that if I did, it would boost oestrogen in my body. Gill said it would not make the cancer grow, but I am always sceptical about that, even though I am, of course, not medically trained. I read in Susan Love’s book that it can take a cancer six years to grow to 1.5 cm – the size of my tumour – so that could have been the time I had Elis. Even though this might not be medically correct, it’s in my mind now; it could be nonsense but I see oestrogen as a source of evil for me, and want it out.
My Mummy Wears a Wig - Does Yours? A true and heart warming account of a journey through breast cancer Page 20