Every week I have two or three physio sessions, an appointment at the hospital, maybe two. First semester of university lingers as I resist finishing my last essay – procrastination at its finest. Second semester looms, I’ve made a tiny dent into that heavy reading workload. I see friends, I bake, I’m having fun some days. I Skype Joe, I see the psychologist, and I think about death too often and practically obsess over fertility. My eyes will fill up with tears at different points of the day. Never for too long. I worry, I have some bad pain, I meditate. I read and I reflect and I make notes of my thoughts that I’m too chicken to build into actual blog posts.
We still don’t know when the next surgery is. I’m desperate to have it out, to get on to radiotherapy which I know will take a long time. But I also need to have eggs collected for IVF, and I’m waiting for that phone call for more appointments.
My diary has become my bible, and my compulsive behaviour is high lately – I zealously organise my time, document my diet and medication. I’ve spent 8 hours or more this week watching beekeeping videos. Hello OCD.
Cancer pairs boredom with anxiety in a way that they can exist together. It’s not the dramatic swing between them like it was early on in the diagnosis stages. I’m sitting in a stagnant sticky vat of both of them. Maybe I’ve moved into a state of acceptance with moments of grief and fear.
In the Headspace app they have an acceptance package where they describe acceptance as the absence of resistance. I like that definition, it stops you from feeling guilty for not being ‘more’ accepting and a better person. It takes away that moral dimension.
In that sense, I’ve ‘accepted’ cancer in that I’m no longer resisting it. The transition from diagnosis to here, where the daily grind of appointments, waiting, planning and recovery means that acceptance isn’t so much a revelation as it is an organic process.
In these conditions acceptance is almost inevitable. It’s just a matter of time.