Anita's story; BRiC's BCAM 24 Project

 

Ten out of Ten

This year’s breast cancer awareness month will be particularly…what? Special? Important? Poignant?  I’m not sure of the words to use to describe reaching my ten year milestone.  All those dates etched forever in my head:  recall letter on bonfire night, diagnosis on remembrance day, surgery on the first day of December.  With numerous scans, biopsies and changes of plan as I got on the roller coaster that no-one wants to ride.  Just as my life plan was falling into place: early retirement, voluntary work I loved, my children doing well. By Christmas I was recovering, awaiting radiotherapy which was delayed by 7 weeks due to a wound that would not heal. My birthday in February, my first radiotherapy appointment.

 

    It was done, they said.  Go off and live, they said.  Well I tried and life continued full force as my youngest son left home on his travels and then my mother died, she who had held my hand every step of the way through treatment. To say I was lost was an understatement. I had no job to provide structure to my day, no children at home to care for. I had my disabled difficult grieving father to look after, I had letrozole which turned me into an old woman overnight, and I mourned not only my mother but also my pre-cancer self.  The me who had energy and enthusiasm, the me who knew how to have fun. I couldn’t keep up with my friends anymore, I was always tired, I didn’t know how to move on. 

    

    It seemed I was expected to pull together an ambitious bucket list and to throw myself into life with renewed vigour and appreciation. I practiced gratitude, I knew I was lucky, but I didn’t feel it. I just felt listless and overwhelmingly sad. And afraid.

 

    Afraid at four in the morning when I can’t sleep and the silence deafens me with its taunts, this can’t go on, it will come back and get you, you’re not worthy of a long life, you don’t deserve good things, it will come back, it’s only a matter of time.  Afraid at every lingering ache and pain, the natural progression of growing older, each check up and doctor visit, surely they’ll find it this time? That little mutant cell that one day will divide and conquer.  Afraid that my body will let me down as it let me down before and so it repeatedly lets me down as my fear triggers the freeze response. My anxiety, crippling me with terror and self-loathing, leading to a craving for safety that glues me to my cosy arm-chair. Sometimes I am unable to leave my home as the world out there is just too scary and I am overwhelmed by even the simplest tasks and decisions.

 

    I have lived like this for ten years. Has it got easier? Yes and no. I have found new things to do that bring me joy, I am busy and yes, I am thriving. I made many new friends through having breast cancer, but there is also the sadness, so many BRiC ladies no longer with us, only four out of six on my HOPE course still here. I often ask Why not me?  What did I do that has allowed me to go on with my life while others have had theirs cut short. I feel undeserving of such good fortune.  I feel it will be my turn next, and soon.

 

    I’ve achieved that ten out of ten as I’m still here. But in terms of zest for life, I’m only at around 7 at best. I may have more good days than bad, but the bad days attract a minus score. Mostly I smile and fake it til I make it. When you and I meet -  if you and I meet as I may not make it to your event - you won’t guess, and I won’t tell. Cancer has a lot to answer for.