The crown of the warrior

After the gentamicin event, my good friend sent me a crown. She called me a warrior (warrior princess, but I think I am a little old to be a princess. Make it a warrior queen instead!). Maureen reminded me that I am tough enough to fight this-and I have been fighting ever since.

Whenever I feel so frustrated and fed up, I look at the crown, which holds pride of place over my bed. And I have to smile. Gentamicin, complete loss of vestibular system, serious chest infections, knee surgery, and, of course, cancer-I have had a lot to fight about. For four years my life has been all about doctors, hospitals and survival. It has been tough at the best of times, excruciating at the worst of times. And I am still fighting.

Of course, those of you who have kept up with this blog know all this, so I am repeating myself. I do that a lot: I repeat myself. This is a sure sign of middle age, along with lines, wrinkles, gray hair, sags everywhere, wobbly bits-and forgetfulness. Oh joy-something to look forward to, isn't it? But when you consider the alternative, it isn't really so bad. I repeat myself, but I don't walk down the street and hold conversations with myself at top volume. That wouldn't be good. People would think I'm from Essex. That would be awful.

This week has been incredibly traumatic. I entertained myself by having my hair cut-and by going to the Unitarian Church for a meditation group on Monday night. That was okay-the people who ran it spoke so softly that nobody at the back of the room could hear them, but we all relaxed in our own way. Happily, nobody was snoring, so that was a bonus.

Tuesday I went along to the hospital. I was shaking so hard, I am surprised that I didn't dislocate something. And I sat in the clinic, shaking, feeling like I wanted to either faint or throw up (whichever would come first). But I controlled myself, because throwing up would be unsociable, and fainting would be painful. So I sat and shook.By the time I was called in to see Mr. Tan's associate, I could barely stand up. It was last year all over again. I was so certain that the cancer had returned, I sat and burst into tears, just as I did last year. Mind you, I cry at commercials, so it was no surprise that I sat and wept (although I was terribly embarrassed). Mr. Choudry said that everyone bursts into tears, so he's used to it. Nice of him to say so...

I don't have breast cancer, although there is something in the abdomen-but that will be removed next week, so I am not to worry. Apart from that - I can live to fight another day. At least. So I held it together, got out, walked down the corridor and into the ladies room. I then sat and sobbed for ten minutes. Maybe longer. I was too busy weeping to take note of the time-but I was in there for a long time. Possibly people were wondering if I fell in.

I managed to get out and I don't know how I was able to get myself together enough to get home. Honestly-I don't think that all the hysterics were only due to this near-crisis. I think that a lot of the pain and anxiety came from last year, when I thought I was going to die. I never really processed the trauma; I was too busy arranging for my knee to be fixed. In retrospect, I might have made a better decision and left the kneecap to this year, rather than last year. Too late to kick myself for that, though (at least I am able to kick myself, which is more than I could do last year at this time!).

I had committed to attending a potluck supper at the church-on Tuesday night after seeing the consultant. I figured I could be distracted by food-and there was a ton of food. There were eleven of us, and I made vegan flapjacks because my new friend Carol is vegan. It was a lot of fun, actually-and the food was good, so we all overate. There was wine, of course, so I was happy.  But it seems that Kat, who knew about the tests, told several people that I had cancer and it was terminal. Really, do you remember playing telephone when we were kids, and by the time the message was relayed by the last person it bore no resemblance to the original message?

This was just like that. Some idiot (called Sean) asked me where the cancer is, and whether it is terminal. How insensitive can one person get? I just looked at him, and someone else changed the subject. I think he knew what a total wanker he was - but I just left it alone, since the guy is huge and I didn't feel like telling him off during a social occasion-or ever, for that matter. Some people have no brains or tact (or feelings) at all.

That was the low point of the evening, but I didn't let it ruin the entire evening. I realized how much I missed going out and socializing. And I decided to go fully macrobiotic: no meat, no dairy, no food with chemicals in it, no animal products at all. I don't eat fish, so that is no problem-but I will miss cheese!

Years ago I had a friend who was diagnosed with spinal cancer, and was told to wrap up his affairs, since there was nothing more to be done. The guy had small children-and he started reading about macrobiotics, and told me that he was going to follow a strictly macrobiotic diet. He didn't really have anything to lose, did he? I was in university, he was a graduate student, and we lost touch for a few years. But - he is still alive and well, kept to his macrobiotic diet, living in Europe with his family-thirty years later he is absolutely fine. So much for medical advice: sometimes it is just plain wrong.

I wonder how long it will be before I get sick of eating rice? How many ways can you eat rice? Well, you have stayed with me this long, so I will keep you updated on the "thousand ways to eat rice and veggies" diet. As you know, I am far too obstinate to give up. The fat lady hasn't sung yet-in fact, she is nowhere to be found. And if the good do die young, I will be around 100 and still hitting people with my stick.