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Special Day Number 2
Special Day Number 2
December 9th 2007
The thing was:
I had every intention of stopping this diary. Time to move on, do something different, give the good folks who’ve stuck with me over the past two years a rest. But that’s the thing. The bit about TWO years. I was suddenly hit by the realisation that I was rapidly approaching my special day number 2. And I couldn’t let that pass without making a bit of a song and dance about it.
For those who’ve forgotten, or simply didn’t know, Lance Armstrong (cancer survivor, 7 times winner of the Tour de France and general all-round hero) suggests we think of ourselves as survivors from the moment we are diagnosed rather than from the moment we get the all clear. He also advocates celebrating each anniversary of diagnosis in much the same way as we celebrate birthdays. Works for me.
These special days have much in common with birthdays – there is a sense of being reborn – because life will never be the same once you’ve heard the word “cancer”. December 16th 2007 will mark the second anniversary of that dreadful word breaching my defences as my futile attempts to believe it might be something else, finally give way an awful realisation; I have a disease which kills. By all accounts I cried and yelled on the day I was born. I did so again on the day I was reborn.
Not that I need much reminding now that things have changed. The daily doses of Imodium testify to that. Or rather the consequences of forgetting one – which I often do – are a better reminder. I read somewhere that it takes around 6 weeks for a routine to become a habit. Morning is easy – the pill is ready and waiting, next to my bed. That particular habit was easy to acquire. I need to take another later in the day – ideally an hour before eating – but have not yet managed to settle into that routine.
People ask me if I miss the bag. To be honest I don’t give it much thought.
“You’ll be in about 3 days – you can go home as soon as you open your bowels”. Yeah right.
It took nearly 3 months to cope without the safety net – to walk that particular wire -unaided. I suppose I did have a net of sort – incontinence pads – but they’re not the same as the good old Velcro trap. And I couldn’t go out in them – made me look like I was wearing a bustle – could have stood a pint glass on my bum.
No bag = no leaks – but accidents and mess of a different sort. With Bag or Without Bag – there are still challenges – things to deal with that I wasn’t really prepared for. But, if - I were to give it some serious thought I’d come to the conclusion that it is good to be free of it.
I’ve been back at work since October. I’m in the habit of commuting by bike – even in the rain and the dark. Bought some lights – haven’t done that since I was at school - even bought cycle clips. Each morning I’m chasing cars round the ring road – and the transformation back to 16 years of age is complete.
I’m trying to get into the habit of going to the gym twice a week. This is a tough one. I have a routine – but I can’t imagine it’ll ever become a pleasurable habit devoid of effort. I am just not a gym person. But I need to repair the damage done during 3 lots of invasive surgery.
Annie stands at the door in her dressing gown, hair in rollers, arms folded, clutching a rolling pin in one hand, ‘encouraging’ me to go. OK – I made that last bit up. She does encourage me but not in a Florrie Capp way. More of a ‘how can you fail to see the reasonableness of my argument’ sort of way. And of course she’s right. I would have been hard pushed to get through these last 2 years without her support.
I have three more ‘special days’ to look forward to before the siren sounds and I can finally emerge from the shelter. Or rather ‘we’. It’s Annie’s special day too. One more milestone on the road out of Cancerville. It’s a sobering journey – in the 2 years since I’ve been ‘surviving’ I know of 6 people – one close friend, one ex-work colleague, the rest relatives of friends – who have not made it.
So I raise a glass to all those who’ve supported me – and to the memory of those who no longer have a special day of their own.
And this really will be the end of the Blog – the site is being taken down on 31st December. So you’ll just have to take my word for it that I will celebrate Special Day Number 5.
That’s All Folks
Von Paulus made this comment,
I've been quietly following your progress over the
past year or so. I take my hat off to you sir. May
you have many more special days to come.
Cheers mate
Von-Paulus
(spouse of a fellow survivor)
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comment added :: 10th December 2007, 14:24 GMT
Pippa made this comment,
Cheers, Ian, we'll raise a glass to you on Sunday.
Thanks for sharing the highs and the lows, and
great to see you back on the bike again.
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comment added :: 14th December 2007, 16:23 GMT
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