Flowers and cards have started arriving
- I haven't told that many people, as I wanted to know my prognosis first. It's
a very different message to deliver, "I've had cancer, but the operation
cured it" to "I have cancer and need further treatment". But
word has got out and I'm very moved by all the kind thoughts and palpable
relief from those close to me. I'm absurdly touched by a plant and a square of
chocolate brownie left on the doorstep by the bass player in my husband’s band
with a note - "heard you might be feeling a little crappy".
The house is full of flowers - they look
beautiful but I can't help reflecting on the dichotomy: as you recover, the
flowers gradually wilt and putrify. I spend time changing the water in multiple
vases and combining arrangements as the shorter lived flowers die. My oldest
school friend, recently recovering from an operation herself, more practically
sends me a boxed set of a French zombie series. A neighbour from book club
sweetly delivers some hand made chocolates, which make a welcome replacement to
the chocolates my husband bought for me and ate. I receive an unexpected call
from a mum at school who has heard my news - "I had a mastectomy 7 years
ago for the same as you". Another mum contacts me, she had a lumpectomy and
subsequent augmentation. Over the week I'm struck by how many friends tell me
they are supporting friends and family through breast cancer at the moment. A
previous sufferer advises me not to tell everyone if I don't want to be treated
as a cancer victim or hear other peoples' horror stories, before proceeding to
tell me about the multiple infections she suffered after her mastectomy and
implant.
My family visits in waves. I feel very
lucky and surrounded by love and concern. I'm informed two churches, a synagogue
and four Masonic lodges have been praying for me. I'll take what I can get but
feel a slight twinge of atheistic guilt.
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