The Roller Coaster

I think it was Ronan Keating who sung about life being a roller coaster. And think it was me who said I would never EVER going to write about the elephant on my blog. But I've just had a really turbulent day. With ups and downs and times that I'm just about hanging on.

It started off nicely enough. Off to Monday morning yoga. I had a lovely time in my class. I was squealing with delight that I managed to get my body into a very strange position and balance my entire body weight on my arms. This body still works. I've just spent the weekend stretching it. Afterwards I grab a take out coffee and head for my Monday elephant appointment.

I am well aware by now of my ability to have a complete personality and mood change on entering the hospital. The care is very good. I just feel so fragile and vulnerable and downright scared whenever I go. Still I know that today should not be too bad. Just collect my peachy pills and head off. The nurse weighs me, and I tell her not to tell me my weight. She forgets and blurts it out to the entire waiting room. Great. The blood pressure machine then hurts my arm. A lot. I then go to have some blood taken and the nurse asks me how I am. I mention something about birthday blues last week... she is sympathetic and asks me more, and before you know it the flood gates are opened. Every member of the medical staff I now see today has me in full teary mood.

I eventually head down to pharmacy to collect the medications. The lady sat next to me smiles and tells me not to cry. She wipes a tear from her eye too. "We are all here for the same reason," she says. I say I know, it's just been such a long road and it gets to me sometimes. She says not to worry because God knows. I tell her I know he does.

Somehow in the midst of this a young woman appears at my side. I rarely talk to other patients, so this is slightly random. She tells me she has just been told she is to have chemotherapy and wants to know how I still have my hair. I give her lots of advice and my contact details and try to be as helpful as I can. She says I really am... through my tears. She leaves and another lady tells me she has overheard my conversation and I have cheered her up too. "How?" I ask. She is about to start new treatment and is scared. She is in a very similar situation with her health to me, as it turns out. She tells me her boyfriend and her are planning to get married next year, but she doesn't know whether she can, given the elephant. I tell her how my wedding was the most special day, and one of the shining lights of the past five years. She says if I got married then she sees that she can too.

After waiting like FOREVER I collect what came for and as I leave I pass my consultant in the corridor. Such a nice man, who always sees me at my utter worst. He asks how I am and comments how well I am looking. I say that I feel well, if only that was always a representation of what is going on on the inside. I must sound so ungrateful.

I eventually get home after what seems like an eternity. I love my home. There is a letter from Breast Cancer Campaign on the doormat thanking me for the winnings in the pub quiz. How crazy that in this horrid situation with my health that I would so choose to not be in, I seem to be making a very small bit of difference. And maybe those conversations I had through those tears helped those ladies today. Who knows.

My lovely faithful friend Gen appears and we hang out like Gen and Jo do. Jonny phones. We talk the way Jonny and Jo do. I'm still me. I start to make my Christmas cake, that no one will eat, the way Jo does every year. I'm still me. I have to collect my Jonny from the station. I'm still me. We get ready to go to the pub quiz. I'm still me. My mood improves. I'm feeling better again.




This roller coaster is an emotionally exhausting one to be on.