28 Days Later...

Yikes. Has it really been almost a month since I last dropped by?  In my new triple-layered journey of a life which passes through the 9-5, Todderville and Cancerland, I seem to have used up another batch of 28 days. Oh well.

So much for my last virtuous post in which I informed you all of my abstinence from all things rich, fatty and full of taste. It seems as though returning to work has not only revived my bank balance - it has also ignited my taste for all things sweet. Despite my good intentions, I have to confess, that since I last spoke to you, I have managed to partake of a bag of Liquorice Allsorts, a burger and chips, questionable amounts of red wine and cake. Yes, you heard me. Cake ! And I have no excuse. My birthday is well and truly long gone.  I've not even been eating the wholesome and clean-living carrot kind of cake but fat, greasy, trans-fat slabs of victoria sponge and chocolate brownie. It seems as though when surrounded by my friends at work, I momentarily forget about those oestrogen-loving cancer cells. I pretend that they're currently away on holiday and living it up in Lanzarote or somewhere and that they won't really notice if I pop a mouthful of butter-laden, sugar-loaded icing cream into my mouth. So, despite the rhetoric, I have to concede that when it comes to barely there cancer-free diets, I am a novice. No, strike that. I'm not even a novice. I'm a non-starter. If there's a way that I can do this malarky part-time while still enjoying some of life's vice-filled pleasures, then I'm down with it. But there's only so much vegetable juice that you can down before you start to indeed feel like one yourself. So for now, I've realised that if I can't be a 24-7 virtuous, vice-free chick all of the time, then some of the time is just going to have to do fine. For now anyway.

But what of life ?  Well, to borrow the title of a much-loved Mike Leigh movie, Life is Sweet. It is indeed, well sweet. I'm happy and feel blessed to be surrounded by people who I love and who love me. But as I write this, I'm well aware that I'm once again at that crossroads of a junction - the period in between having had a scan and awaiting the results. Since this is my third bout of scanxiety, you'd think I'd be a pro at the experience by now. But the waiting still freaks me out, so much so that I'm beyond feeling scared. Can you remember what it was like to get caught at school doing something that you really shouldn't be doing and being so scared of what the consequences might be when you're folks found out that... you kind of just stopped worrying ? I mean, it wasn't like you were no longer scared, you were beyond scared. You were too worried to worry. Completely zoned out in a zoneless zone. It might sound like some kind of zen-like blissful state but the real emotion here is numbness. I've realised that I've worried myself into an emotionless corner. I guess it beats trying to second guess the experts by taking a sneak preview at my scan (don't worry, I won't be going down that road again...) but my lack of focus and feelings about my imminent appointment with my onc feels a bit like I've overdosed on anti-depressants and am now having a hard time seeing the sunshine for the clouds.

But no matter, since this is fast becoming my new normal, I guess I should start getting used to it. What I don't understand is why no-one's ever written a book about this subject ? Forget the 'I-ran-a-marathon-after-my-lumpectomy-and-loved-it' confessional; that post-chemo, post-mastectomy state of nirvana that so many publishers seem to be drawn to like bees to honey has got nothing on the this-scan-could-well-be-my-last drama of the metastatic cancer patient. Maybe there's a Hollywood blockbuster in there somewhere. Now all I need to do is try to convince Mr Spielberg that this idea truly has legs. Well, it certainly has breasts. So by Hollywood standards, I guess I'm already half way there.