Tag: love

The Greatest Thing…

This is by far, the hardest piece I have ever written. And, despite having composed it a million times over in my head, usually in the small, dark hours when I can’t sleep, somehow, getting the words out of my head and into black and white print keeps proving difficult, if not impossible.

But, the time has come.

For those of you who have followed my writing over the years, you will know that as well as banging on about insects, trees, gardening and all things nature related, I have also written many times about having cancer. I have always done so to try and remove some of the awkwardness around the subject and to help people navigate when they don’t know where to begin.

And now I do so again. But this time it is a bit different. A bit bigger. A lot harder. And the navigation not so clear. In short, my cancer is back and has its walking boots on. The clinical research trial I was taking part in did not work and I have begun chemotherapy again as a start while we look at what options are available. 

Cancer diagnosis and treatment is hard, really hard but previously there has always been the element of facing them knowing they’ll be tough – but won’t last. This time, for me, there will be no coming out the other side of treatment and getting on with getting better. Instead we move into a new place where we manage each stage of what comes along as best as possible for as long as possible. To use a rather apt metaphor for a writer, my life story will be a novella rather than a full length novel.

How do you come to terms with this? The truth is, I don’t know. My husband, family and I are having to take each day as it comes and in all honesty, at the moment it is not easy. Cancer is never experienced in a vacuum of one person, it affects the people around just as much as the person going through it and there is no guide book for any of it. I would love for someone to be able to tell me how to do this and how I can help my loved ones.

When a colleague of mine heard the news she messaged me including the words, ‘and I hope that whatever happens, you do it on your terms.’ I love this sentiment, but there is only one flaw in it; cancer and its treatment takes away much of your autonomy, you are wholly out of control of so much, whether you like it or not. But, I have always tried to take control where I can and in this situation, I think one of the best things I can do, is to write about this because I think it is important for anyone going through cancer or who has a loved one going through it, to not feel like they are alone or cannot speak out about how they really feel or what they are going through.

I have found that over the years living with cancer I have done a lot of big thinking about life and it is with utmost irony that I feel I have just got it all sorted at this point. In a couple of days I turn 42 and I am feeling very Douglas Adamas about it. And so I am going to be writing on two counts:

The first is so people can know what’s happening without having to ask. My request is this, if you know my family, be gentle with them and don’t keep asking them for updates. Having to repeat what we’re going through over and over is hard for us all. By all means acknowledge the situation with a, ‘I heard Jenny’s news, well that’s sh1t, I’m here any time you need me.’ If you want to know more about what’s going on, follow my writing.

The second reason is to share with you some of my life thoughts. You may like them, or not; agree with them or feel they are complete twoddle, I don’t mind.

Before I leave you with a first small thought I want to address the thing that people are saying most at the moment. ‘I don’t know what to say or how to be with you.’

In the past I wrote about having cancer because people suddenly became very awkward when they found out and, out of not knowing what to say they said nothing – as in, you suddenly realised people weren’t talking to you at all anymore. Well, you can just imagine how much more awkward it is when they find out this news. And I will say again, what I have always said before – don’t change. I haven’t, I am still me, I still have the same loves, interests, thoughts and opinions. I have an illness (a bad one) but I am still the same person. Whatever relationship we had before this news, let it be the same. If we talked about nature nonsense, carry on. If we did coffee and cake and put the world to rights – more of that. If we went for walks together – yes please. I haven’t changed, and you don’t have to. The thing is, I want as much normality as is possible and if I’m honest, it just makes me feel a bit angry if I feel I am getting ‘special treatment.’ Yes, my physicality will change; my hair will fall out again any day now, I will look different, be a heck of a lot more tired – but I am still me, so just be you.

Moving on to a little first thought to end this piece with. At the moment, my heart is completely broken. (I will talk more about grief in another post.) My heart is broken because I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. That might sound strange considering my situation and of course I do not feel lucky about having cancer, that would be absurd. But my health aside, I really do think I am one of the lucky ones. Why? Because I have got to know so much love, I have got to give it and to receive it. I have come to realise there is really very little in this life that is actually important, but love is one of those few things. I love my husband more than any amount of words could ever convey and that is why my heart is so completely broken, because I do not feel I have had enough time with him – but how lucky am I to have had and to have the time so far. I love my family so, so much. We are completely bonkers but incredibly close, we don’t fight, never have and I am so lucky to have them. I love my friends, I love my cat, I love my hobbies and interests, I love my job. Love, love, love – when I look I see I am surrounded by it. And that is why my heart hurts now with grief.

It is my belief that if you open yourself to feeling you have to take it all, the highest highs are immeasurable but it does mean you have to allow yourself to feel the lows when they come too. Conversely, if you try to dull and shut off one set of emotions, you will end up doing so to all. You may lessen your pain but you will also dampen the very best too.

I am choosing to feel it all because I don’t want to miss out on all the good stuff.

I’m ending this piece with a line from a song called Nature Boy that I feel to be true and one of the few important things in life…

‘The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.’

Unravelling

Before six on a Sunday morning in December; I stand outside in the dark, a gentle drizzle cooling my still bed-warm face. Between a hideous cough and cold and a head full with a maelstrom of thoughts, sleep has proved to be, once again, elusive.

Only an hour before, warm and snuggled next to my darling husband, despite the lack of sleep, everything seemed possible in that fuzzy way of being not quite fully conscious to the world. But with each minute that passed, unbidden and an unwanted thoughts arrived – as they so often do.

In the pre-dawn, in my pyjamas and in the morning air I feel the softness of those moments when most of the world is still asleep. A gentle susurration shakes whispers in the tree tops. I say out loud to the dark, ‘I don’t want to leave. Please, let me stay.’

Last summer, I was at the point in the previous cancer recurrence, where I thought treatment was coming to an end. I had done five months of chemo, had surgery to remove all of the lymph nodes under my right arm and was nearing the end of radiotherapy. After what I thought was just another routine scan, I was told that the cancer had spread further than they had first thought and that I would have to do another six months of chemotherapy. 

I did not deal with this well.

Since then, I have had regular on-off feelings that drop into the pit of my stomach at such random moments that they can completely knock me off guard, that I am going to die young. Standing outside on this December morning, that feeling lands again.

I head in. I feed the cats, because, let’s face it, there’s nothing like cats to bring you down to earth and tell you quite clearly where priorities lie. 

I light candles around the living room, and think. It has become hard to know which thoughts are real, which are anxiety or fear driven, which ones are intrusive and completely untrue, which are hope, which are gut feeling – which ones to believe. And mostly, there isn’t really time to actually think about them when they happen. Life forces a relentless churn of hurried onwards motion.

By candlelight, and to the sound of cats chomping down their breakfast and the incredibly annoying ticking of two clocks and an orchestra of tinnitus, I try to unravel the knotted ball of thoughts and feelings. But it doesn’t work today.

I believe very much in both following with curiosity thoughts and feelings, examining them and giving time to try to get to know their origin and demands – as well as not giving over too much time to runaway thoughts that are often impishly playing games with you. Today it seems my brain has decided on the latter, and besides which, the hot water I’ve been drinking becomes pressing and is edging me to get up off the sofa – the spell is broken.

But, I have been left with this. I read recently that, as children, we cry when we are upset but, as adults, we cry more when things are beautiful. This is because, as we get older, we experience more of the difficulties of life, we know how deep hurt can feel and have known far more pain and grief. When something is beautiful we can truly feel how far it is from these sorrows and it touches us more for its distance from these things.

In a candle lit room, cats now gently snoring, my darling husband asleep upstairs, flames flickering shadows on the walls of the leaves of houseplants, silence, warmth – I cried. Big fat tears of love and joy, stratospheric in distance from the thoughts in the pit of my stomach. And while I still cry with heart breaking love – I know I am, for now, okay.

Apple Crumble by Candlelight

P.S. Oof, bit of a feels one there, wasn’t it. If it helps to lighten the mood, I am now writing this last bit while, for the second time this week, eating apple crumble for breakfast. I thoroughly recommend crumble by candlelight for breakfast – try it.

P.P.S. Re treatment, after much tormenting back and forth between options, I have decided to try for the genetic PARP inhibitor trials with Addenbrookes. This is both hopeful and terrifying. I have to pass some very intense medical screening first and while this is happening, I have to somehow come to peace with knowingly letting the cancer grow and potentially spread while doing so. 

P.P.P.S. If anyone knows of any cough remedy that ACTUALLY works and will allow me to get some sleep for the first time in a week – let me know. No, Mum, I am NOT going to drink onion syrup.