84. The power of words

Anyone who knows me knows i) if 100 words can be used rather than 10, that’s me.... ii) I love words. I love new words (though I’m finding it harder to remember them, probably because if you don’t use it, you lose it) and etymology iii) I’m often very good at expressing things in words and genuinely mean what they say, yet I find it hard to accept it when nice things are said or written about me and can almost be guaranteed to add a rider in response.

Ok, she’s wittering now... get to the point. The other day, I decided to post openly on Facebook to celebrate the last of my 12 chemotherapy sessions. Let’s face it. Not only has it dominated my every breathing moment since before Christmas Eve, it’s completely stolen my body and completely disrupted our lives. Dennis has turned into virtually a full-time carer (for which he has far greater potential than I) and I doubt he has had many moments not dominated by chemotherapy in some way. There have been positives: I learned not to catastrophise quite so instinctively and learned to trust, not just the oncology team and my friends but also myself. I’ve found a lot to laugh about and a lot to think about. Above all, I’ve learnt acceptance - what else can you do, surrounded by people from their 20s to their 80s all facing the same or similar challenges with such dignity and pragmatism?

Wandered off the point again! So I posted on Facebook, not thinking that very few people actually knew I’d had breast cancer, let alone was going through chemo. The responses I got were heart-warming and truly uplifting and I’ll treasure those comments. Sorry to take up so much space but I want to remember them all:

 

Back to words. Yesterday I received an email from Costa Rica, detailing all the wonders Maureen had witnessed and the incredible views and my heart sank when I saw it was signed by Mum - obviously sent by mistake. But there was an additional note for me saying she thought I might appreciate the distraction from my chemo side effects. I admit I was moved as close to tears as I can get. A few simple words meant such a lot. Thank you.

And I got a text from Trina when I was at a particularly miserable point, having spend all evening spitting into a green mug and feeling generally revolted by what I was experiencing. The insight in what she wrote stunned me. I hadn’t said how I was feeling but she somehow got it spot on: that I’d reached the end of a stage and, no matter how horrid it was, it was what I’ve grown used to and facing new unknowns must be pretty scary. Yes, I think I’ve become a little institutionalised and chemo-bound - let’s face it, it’s been almost 5 months - and radiotherapy comes next, after which..... what?

Anyway, to those of you who’ve left comments and written words of support and encouragement over the months,