First Past the Post

I'm two and a half years post chemotherapy and a year and a half post radiotherapy, officially 'In remission' of this constant, and in my case, incurable, disease.

Mostly I am well, often very well and everybody smiles, all is good in the world. I don't know how it is for others, many suffer much more than me, but I'm never out of touch with my reality. So many bad things in this world, so much hardship endured, by so many, I have nothing to complain about...."there's always someone much worse off than you", but I do sometimes sink into a self pity of which I am ashamed.

So when those neuropathy pains return, unabated, uncontrolled by simple painkillers or my hands won't work properly or my mind muddles in a post chemo way that can  only be  known by a fellow suffer, then I get down. Its not an all invasive 'down', not a deep hole, an empty pit, just a common or garden overwhelming sadness. That and a frustration for things not going away, not getting better all the time.

I see the look in my husbands face, his anger at the world for treating me so and I want to cry! These are tears because I don't want to hurt those people I love so dearly, those who give and will always give everything they can to help me...its as though I'm letting them down, making them angry!Voices on the phone asking how I am, willing me to be cheerful, be well, caring and uncertain...I want to soothe their fears not dissolve into tears.

And then there are those suffering other difficulties who post meaningful quotes on social media,  this isn't a competition as to who has the worst woes, its about sharing and supporting each other. But perhaps the hardest to bear are those who are ' The Cured'; they've known all the fear, had all the procedures, endured all the symptoms and side effects and finally have the 'all clear'. You'd think they would be the most compassionate, the ones to know how that axe head hanging over you feels, to understand the fragility of life and rejoice in giving back. But not always so it seems.

Perhaps its fear "will it come back, am I really cured, dare I even talk about it?") Perhaps its the exhaustion of enduring, no more energy left to give to others, Or perhaps its simply a survival strategy ("I'm out of the deep dark water & I never want to go near it or think of it again"). But you are the very ones who can do the most, you can offer the hand, sit down and really ask how we are. You know what it feels like, you've been there, we are still!

So the pity fades and the short lived tears abate in the light of those who really care. My husband hugs me, holds tight and kisses me gently on the forehead, my son reassures me with humour , my daughter with anecdote and my elderly father with resolution and pathos. The real friends are those who stay close; not many words, not flurries of emotion and certainly not an air of challenge or ignorance. No you are all the ones near and far that say one small thing, give one short glance, ask honestly, unavoid, even stay quiet, but I know you're there...each of you. And my heart sings!