Moving on...

Well, hello again.  I didn’t expect to be writing this blog anymore, but over the last few weeks, I’ve had several people tell me I should.  My initial reasoning behind the blog was twofold; one to help me externalise and cope with what I was going through and two, to potentially help anyone else going through something similar.  As I moved through the recovery process and started to regain some semblance of normality, to be honest, I needed the blog less.  However, it would appear with all the nagging, from Mr. J in particular, that I should keep going with it.  I’m not sure how interesting or funny it’ll be now that I don’t have any face down, arse up stories, but I’ll give it a go.

So, the last time I posted, I’d just been given the news that I was clear of the bastard cancer and was in remission.  Huge news.  Massive.  So I went out and got well and truly inebriated – getting out of the pub and home was fun that night.  Being drunk doesn’t work well with crutches and no natural balance!

Anyhoo, given what the cancer had done I was clearly still left with the whole walking challenge.  Not ideal.  I was making fantastic progress given my initial prognosis, but it was still too slow for me.  I kept expecting too much and then being disappointed and frustrated with the reality.

Also, the unrelenting ‘positivity’ I was maintaining was wearing.  Exhausting even. Every now and then I wanted to rant, shout and cry.  I've found that facebook helps me meet and suppress that need.  There’s nothing like a drunken rant on arsebook to remind you the morning after that although you may not be well, you can still make yourself look like a total twat with minimal effort. Particular thanks go to Gary Francis and the Sneddons for reminding me of that. ;-)  Salutary lesson, duly noted, but one which I’m sure I’ll completely ignore next time I overdo it on the sauvignon blanc or rioja.

What’s that? A funny story to keep the readers hooked you say? Ok, I can do that.  Going to the local pub last week for Sunday lunch, Kevin and I were stopped in our tracks by an elderly lady.  I bloody love the elderly – they have no respect for privacy or personal space…  “What’s happened to you? Knee replacement?” she shouted from about 100 yards away.  “No” I said more quietly.  “What then?” she shouted.  Right then you nosey old bag, I thought, so I let her have the whole horrible story.  “Well” she said.  “Aren’t you a lucky girl!” “Am I?” I said.  “Yes”,she said.  “Two years ago, my son’s wife was at work – very bright and successful, just like you (little bit of preening), when she suddenly felt a bit odd and couldn’t feel her fingers.  She was rushed into hospital, two weeks later…..huge pause….DEAD!!!!”  “Really?” I said.  “Well that’s a hugely helpful story, thank you for that”. WTF??

But actually, in a funny way, the old dear was right.  Although I have permanent damage and will never again do a jig or walk a marathon, (was I ever going to do that anyway?) I am still here.  If the cancer hadn’t done its worst on my spine, we’d never have known it was there, and I definitely wouldn’t be around now to regale you with funny tales. Scary stuff when you think of it like that.

And on that bombshell, goodbye for now.

A. xxx