192. The New Normal

This is going to be a waffle. Be warned, avoid if necessary:

I don’t remember when I first heard someone use the term 'the new normal.’ In fact, I probably read it rather than heard it, but it was after I’d scared myself witless by consulting the evil oracle called Google in order to understand my NPI score and discovered my prognosis was less than great. At the time, it took an intelligent and soothingly logical email from C, my breast care nurse, to help me regain some perspective and, apart from momentary surges of horror that last mere seconds, I have it sorted. Maybe it was C who used it?

Maybe it doesn't matter. What did matter was that everything clicked into place for me. I understood that I needed to find a place in my mind to store additional unpleasant things, this time more tangible thing like memories of the experiences I’ve had, my reactions to my diagnoses, the treatments - and that fact that, confident though I am that I am cancer-free, it may not remain like that for ever. Echoing someone’s wise words, once you’ve heard a cancer diagnosis, it cannot be unheard. Nor can all its implications.

I derived great comfort from this concept of a new normal. Everyone who has had cancer has to work towards it and most succeed in accepting that things can never go back to exactly how they were, no matter how much you may wish it so. Personally, I had no problem. Cancer has its place in my life and I'm pretty confident that, freed from maybe half of these bloody side effects, I'd now be as happy a bunny as I was before - happy but wiser. Life is a precious thing and not to be wasted on regrets and what ifs and if onlys. Just get on with life. Que sera sera.

And I will, as soon as my body allows it.

Why am I waffling? I believed this term was specific to Cancer World. It felt a very special revelation to me so it was a huge blow to hear the Prime Minister urging us all to follow his very precise guidance and accept a new normal. Then Matt used it (I have now accepted that he wishes to be on first name terms and not be known by his formal tile of Secretary of State or whatever). Then suddenly every other person in the newspapers and on the TV was bandying the term about. We mustn’t be complacent and assume everything will return to how it was before Covid-19. We must accept the new normal.

It’s only words but I can’t convey my indignation at having one simple term stolen from me. I feel like a child who doesn’t want to share her toys (in my case, her sweets) in a way. On a more serious note, I feel that something very meaningful which provided me with much solace has been stolen from me. I must share it with all those lucky buggers out there who haven’t had the horrors of living with cancer, have merely had the inconvenience of having to home school their kids, forego a couple of holidays in the sun and wonder how on earth they are ever going to eat all that rice and pasta, let alone use all that toilet paper they’ve stockpiled.

I know it sounds petulant. I’m happy to share it with all those who’ve been unlucky enough to be directly touched in any way by this dreadful virus (with the one exception, of course) but I really don’t want MY reassuring concept to be filched by people in general. Life will be a bit different for most - that‘s not comparable to a diagnosis of cancer, let alone surgical brutality, poisoning and radiation burning. I don’t call having to walk in swerves and wear a sweaty mask anything like comparable to the hovering knowledge that the next hospital visit may be the one that brings bad news and all that awfulness has to start again. There’s no comparison.

So there. I am a petulant, selfish pedant - it’s only a couple of words for god’s sake. But I’m serious when I say I feel something precious has been stolen from me. Let’s face it, I have resisted almost all the clichés of Cancer World. I’ve not talked about journeys and battles. I find the concepts abhorrent. But I did love my little ‘new normal.’   

On a more positive note, I have BEEN SWIMMING. After agonising over a new swimsuit (I settled for buying both a size 14 and a size 12 in the hope I shall burn off some of this ludicrously out of character weight), I went to Cookridge Hall with Joyce and Maureen for a swim. I was reluctant to go on my own as I had serious doubts about getting out of the pool without some assistance so I was delighted when they offered. We had the pool to ourselves so I could swim half a length here, a very slow length there - and I managed to haul myself out without too many problems. The only problem came when I foolishly tried the children’s pool which was too shallow to be useful for leg exercising - till I tried to get out. Not easy. A little embarrassing had I had an audience.  I’m hoping to go twice a week at least and, if it works smoothly, I might try the gym in a month or so. I have to get these leg and arm muscles working better. Dennis asked me today if I would always be walking “like that.” Say no more. Mr Tactful dug his grave by adding he only married me for my walk - and hastily added “and brain.”