At about 3 o’clock yesterday, I suddenly felt better. I left the house. I walked. I did some work. I made dinner. I stayed up until I felt like going to bed. I’m a little bit sniffy, but the throaty sneezes and grating coughs have stopped. I am relieved, although possibly not as relieved as Alan and Joy, who have had to listen to constant cries of ‘I’m not very well,’ ‘I hate being ill’, and ‘why aren’t I better yet’. (The frequent suggestions that I go and have a lie down may not just have been about my own health.)
It’s been a long, lousy week. Partly because, well, illness wouldn’t be illness if it didn’t make you feel, well, ill…. but also because this bug has had the same effect as a rainstorm does on our kitchen ceiling. The kitchen ceiling looks just fine until the rain starts – and so do the drips.
Because this week has shown me just where all my leaks and weak spots are: and just how shallow my healing has been.
During the course of this week, my dodgy tooth has got dodgy again, throbbing gently through the night. The inside of my nose has gone back to constant, painful bleeding. My mouth hurts and has sprouted a couple of ulcers. I’ve had diarrhea and a stomach that’s as delicate as an Edwardian lace hanky. All of the places that were hit by cancer treatment have had the scabs knocked off, and my idea that I am properly well has taken a bit of a hit too.
Don’t get me wrong: most of the time I feel well, and most of the time I am glad and grateful that cancer hasn’t done more lasting harm. I can pass undetected in the world: the scars are hidden and the side-effects and knock-ons have become everday-unnoticed. But this week has reminded me of just how much damage cancer did to my body. Let’s hope it’s a while before there’s another rainstorm.