I wasn’t planning on writing any more on this, having already written two lengthy posts… but that’s because I wasn’t banking on there being a response to those. Which, in hindsight, was a bit unfair of me! So I thought I’d have one last word on the topic before putting it aside for a while…
Quick recap
At the end of March, I found what seemed to be a lump and I worried was a cancer recurrence (fortunately, it wasn’t). Having taken some time to process that rollercoaster, I then blogged on it, as there were some important things I learned which I thought might help others…
And this going out on my blog was the first that the majority of my friends heard of the situation. Even really close ones. Which is where I’ll continue the story.
Thank you all
I’ve had various friends and readers get in touch – via comments, private messages, or speaking to me in person – to share their relief that I’m healthy, and encourage me to talk to them more.
Whilst I share very openly now, keeping quiet was the theme of my early cancer journey. It was how I coped. The progression and treatment of my tumour was really uncertain during the early stages, and so I found it difficult to tell people, because there wasn’t a lot to say. I had a tumour. I wasn’t sure how it was going to be treated. I knew that it was a type which had a reputation for being vicious. And the repeating the story made me incredibly anxious. Having to say those things over and over again kind of affirmed how scary it was, and it became desperately uncomfortable.
Old habits die hard
So when I had the threat of a recurrence, I guess the natural thing for me was to share nothing, or very little, until I knew what was happening. And by this time, I was in the situation of not just having others in the cancer community following my journey on line, but I was also working with cancer patients and survivors in real life via personal training. It didn’t feel safe to share when I was maintaining a professional relationship with others on the rollercoaster.
I reexperienced the persistent anxiety of telling people that something might be wrong, but not having much information on it. So I kept it close. My immediate family, and a small number of friends who gave an incredible amount of support were aware. It was the easiest way for me to cope, and when you’re waiting on news, coping is all that matters.
Meta learning
I learned a lot technically about my journey, and my body from experiencing a scare. And having then shared that publicly, I’ve processed it further and learned again. The perspective of others has reminded me that, although I made a significant effort to heal from what I’d been through, I still could’ve been kinder to myself.
The problem is, our bodies kind of don’t care what else we have going on. Mine didn’t give a shit that I’d made all sorts of other plans months in advance. It needed to give me a message that I had to hear, and it didn’t matter that this fell when I had a lot of other things to do.
I got the all clear on 3rd April. Then we had a clutch of Bank Holidays and I had a few social events in April. And May was absolutely stacked with fun days out, my branding shoot, a study day, a dentist appointment and much more. It should’ve been of no surprise to me that I spent two days in bed feeling incredibly sick at the end of the month. My body was begging for a rest, and I had to give in.
The lesson? Take time out sooner. I needed to find an opportunity to press pause earlier. Next time…
All’s well that ends well
I’m glad I waited to share this. I once heard that, before sharing a personal story, you should consider whether it’s a wound or a scar – how fresh is it? How much pain is it still causing you? Essentially, are you really ready to tell this story?
And I love that idea, but I do think there’s a third stage. There’s a bridge between a wound and a scar, and that’s a scab. For me, this wound became a scab quite quickly, and it’s at that point that I wrote the two posts I shared before. I had originally planned to release them during May, and something held me back. I pushed the dates in the blog schedule. Without realising it, I gave time for the scab to change. I’m not convinced it had become a scar, but the thing I like about the scab analogy is that there’s a lot of ground and change there.
Scabs are so varied. Some move quickly. Some take a long time to go from raw and weepy to firmer and drier. And sometimes, they look nicely crusted, as though they’re well on their way to shrivelling up and falling off cleanly, but you happen to bump them against a piece of furniture just so and suddenly you see fresh blood and it surprises and worries you and you suddenly realise it really fucking hurts and you need a tissue for what has become a wound again.
I say all of this to share that, by the time the previous blogs came out, I was calm. And people were asking me whether I was ok and saying lovely things and I sort of just thanked them and nodded. I surprised myself there. I thought this kind of response would make me cry, bringing the feelings to mind again. Because I truly was terrified when I thought I had another tumour, or a different kind of cancer, or another health problem. I saw the year I’d mapped out flash before me and disappear in a flurry of hospital visits and treatment plans.
But by the time I told you all about it, those plans had slid back into sharp focus and I was pressing on. Few people knew the storm had happened, but it absolutely did. I’m home and dry now, gratefully sipping a drink in front of the TV.