I knew, the moment I woke up, that today would be a struggle. Which is why I forced myself to go to the gym and was pretty proud of myself for having done so. (After all, I was just in surgery last Tuesday.) But I felt strong afterwards - I suppose the endorphins kicked in. Later in the day the children and I had a picnic lunch outside in the garden which was absolutely lovely.
However, there was only so much I could do. By 3pm I found myself bawling my head off at the injustice of it all. Suddenly, all the confidence I had in the doctors and the medical staff was gone. My tumour was incurable, I was going to die. My children were going to grow up without a mother. I would have to find my husband a new wife (it's all about control, even A.D.) I called the the Breast Cancer Clinic nurse, cried my head off with her. I called Macmillan and did the same. I then got hold of my friend M, who suffered from breast cancer a little over five years ago and was soothed by her. She prayed for me, and made me laugh. Suddenly, everything was fine again. I am going to live. A will not be forced to marry a second-rate version of me (no way am I choosing some alpha female) and I will meet my children's children.
I think I will have to accept that these psycho days are going to be part and parcel of the whole C experience. It's very unnerving - I can only compare it to watching Comic Relief* every other day. I can just imagine though how much more uncomfortable it is for the recipients of my manic emotions. This is an excerpt from a conversation the other day when the children's music teacher called:
R: Hi, I was just confirming that it's still okay to come on Tuesday?
Me: (stifled sob)
People will start to think I'm crazy.
*Comic Relief is an annual British fundraising drive for children in Africa and the UK. They intersperse funny, side-splitting sketches with the most heartbreaking images of dying and impoverished children.