I’m not feeling very well. As the day progresses I feel tired and my stomach starts to hurt. I rest. Susannah goes out in the afternoon – she’s having a social drink with her TL who is up from Christchurch. They are meeting in person for the first time. It’s good for Susannah to have someone to talk to. I wish she had more people outside of the cancer world. 

While she is out I lie on the sofa and do nothing. I’m incapable of much else. Mum’s friend Mo is staying for a week and has just arrived but I’m not feeling up to anything social. I was expecting to feel much better in the off chemo week but I actually feel worse. I guess this is why they stagger the treatments in this way. With the physical discomfort and mental anguish I’m feeling, this is not a good day. 

I’m really struggling after yesterday’s Oncology appointment. My cancer treatment is like walking down a dark corridor. There are doors on either side, some open and others closed. Golden light spills out from some of the open rooms. I can hear voices coming from the closest rooms. As I walk towards the first open door, the chatter instantly stops, the lights inside go out and the door closes. I move on to the next one and the same thing happens. I try to speed up, but only get a tiny glimpse inside the nearest room before the door slams shut. As I progress, the light filtering through into the hallway gets dimmer and dimmer and the sounds become more of muted. I can’t see the end of the corridor but instinctively I know that the number of doors is lessening as I walk along it. These are my treatment options. They are presented to me then cruelly snatched away. I feel like I’m running out of time. There is so much I still want to do.

I read a bit more of The Resilience Toolkit and find: The most depleting thing you can do is avoid the pain that comes from your experiences. In a space of resilience, avoiding pain also means rejecting the possibility of growth.

Words to contemplate today.