16/06/16-bed (03:45): My skin is hot and red and itchy and sore and I can’t sleep. I can’t find any position to bring me comfort. I’m restless, irritable through lack of sleep and fatigue has returned and raided my resource bank. I’d thought that my coffers had been replenished, refilled but it would appear that my resilience runs no deeper than the shallow baths I allow myself at present.
It is two weeks on from the last of my radiotherapy sessions. They said it could get worse before it gets better.
It’s two weeks on and it is getting worse.
It’s two weeks on and I’m not sleeping.
It’s two weeks on, it is the early hours of the morning and I feel like I’m losing the plot.
Here in the darkness, in the unnaturally lengthened hours of the graveyard shift, in the lonely stillness, come the dark ruminations. I can’t stop them. Can’t stem their flow as they work their way up in convulsion like waves from my sleep deprived, anxiety ridden heart. They work their way up in convulsion like waves, a sickness spewing out into my fragile mind.
Have I really just dodged that bullet?
Is my ‘sniper’ still out there watching me, waiting for me, aiming right at my central body mass, my liver, my lungs? And if I stick my head up above the parapet will my sniper find his shot again and this time not miss?
Have I really been that lucky?
And what would constitute sticking my head above the parapet anyway?
Eating dairy? Eating meat? Drinking wine? Carrying too much weight? Stepping on the cracks in the pavement?
Can I really avoid the next bullet with my name on it?
Do I have any control? Do any of us?
Could I have done things differently?
Was it my fault???
It’s a lottery. Surely?
A game of Russian roulette-an invisible assailant walking amongst us, choosing at random, holding the gun up close to our heads, pulling the trigger…
‘Click’…today you are spared…move on.
Cancer can’t discriminate-it won’t defer to gender or ethnicity. It makes no difference the circumstances into which you are born, whether you have a faith or whom you choose to love and share your body with. And to age, cancer is blind.
It is a tough realisation…painful…frightening; I have nowhere I can hide… I feel the full weight of the punch as it glances off the side of my jaw. I feel the full weight of the punch and it’s terrible force take hold, sending me. Falling. I watch helplessly as the lights go out in my mind momentarily, falling, falling and then I get back up on my feet. I get back up on my feet, brush myself down, make myself a cuppa and I watch as the gift of another new day unfolds outside my window…