The Demons Come at Night
On Monday, I looked in the wardrobe for some nice clothes to wear. I was fed up because just before I was diagnosed, I had given away some lovely outfits that didn’t fit. For example, I’d hung on to some great jeans for a couple of years in the hope that I could lose five kilograms. And now I have, worst luck. (Remember: be careful what you wish for!)
On Wednesday I started to panic. I kept thinking: I’ve got cancer! It’s not going away. It’s now my constant companion. Then another thought struck me: maybe the twinges I get in my stomach, chest and back are not from the chemo working its magic, but tumours finding a new place to attack me. Fret. Fret. Fret.
Mostly, the panic comes in the night, but when it gets light I tend to calm down. The trick, I’ve found, is not to lie in bed. Get up. Busy yourself – do some chores. Better still, go for a walk; enjoy the breeze and the ever-changing sea. Try to be tranquil; look at Rob’s face and know you’re loved.
