Friday, 24 April 2009

More pills than Boots

It's strange how some people do not know what to say. They are literally lost for words. It's sort of nice but also makes me want to tell them, "It's OK. I know what you're trying to say". And then I want to gently hold their hand and just assure them with two simple but honest words: "I know". More flowers. Tulips. Very lovely they are, too. I think the cats know something is afoot. It's actually soon to be not a breast but anyway, I'm sure they know. Wallace just likes sitting on my left arm, simultaneously obscuring my view of the laptop keyboard and screen with his ears and removing any feeling from said limb. And attempting to puncture my stomach. With pointy feet.

Some people have also done that brilliant barely-speaking-the-words thing, where they overdo the mouthing of words. Specifically, they apply this to the words "breast cancer" and "mastectomy". Like Peter Kay's Nan when she said "lesbian". Or, rather didn't say it.
I think people don't say the words because then it's like it's not real... actually, no, I don't think it's that; perhaps, it is more that if you say it quietly or mouth it, it's less upsetting. But, the truth for us (and in my mind at least), is that it isn't beneficial because it sort of feels as if they are trying to protect Ma from the cancer and that's not possible, presently. One wouldn't think, looking at her, that there is anything wrong with her. There is, but there isn't. She's still walking around, she can drive, she can laugh and eat and sleep and hug and hold.

In a (vague) way, it's like depression and periods and the like, whereby there is a genuine problem but it happens to not be visible. There was no lump to indicate a problem with my Ma, nor did she feel unwell. She had a routine mammogram and that picked up several tiny white dots which looked like microcalcifications. But, most likely, you can't feel it, you can't see it, and if left undetected, as they say, it will spread and it WILL, very probably, be fucking dangerous. I'm sure "they" don't say "fucking dangerous". I just put that in...

I had to see my GP today, to get my next batch of tablets - Citalopram, Co-dydramol, Tranexamic acid, Keral... and, because I'm on Citalopram and shall be taking Keral, there is an increased risk of bleeding of the stomach. So I have to have an antacid to counteract the effects of those two battling against each other. Which is a bit annoying, really. And they're capsules, the antacids. I'm even worse with capsules than with tablets. They float! Agh. I'll take them, of course I'll take them... But yes, back to my GP. I mentioned that I was scared and frightened, about the situation and also for my Mum. I think it's reasonable to feel those emotions when you know something like "this" is happening to someone for whom you would do anything. GP said - in an entirely sensible but slightly annoying-to-me-so-please-wait-until-I-finish-what-I-was-trying-to-say way - my feeling scared and such was no help to Ma, I need to be strong for her. I agree. BUT, what I was trying to say was this: I was empathising with her, not pitying myself in this situation. I cried, of course I cried: she's my Mum and what will happen to her next week will no doubt be traumatic and indeed painful. But I felt sad for her, not for me. For her. And I'm not "moping about", thank-you very much, doc. I'm really arsing well tired but I'm not moping. I have been mopping, though. I cleaned the kitchen and utility room floors.

But I don't think I do the feeling-sorry-for-myself thing. I did it for a long time, years ago, in my darkest, most horrifically depressed days and I felt no better. Life is shit sometimes, and when it's good or astonishingly marvellous, you appreciate it. We - all four of us - are beginning to learn about new bras and prostheses and life after Operation Remove Offending Article(s). Again, I say "we" as we are a family and a close one. This IS The Bullshit. And it and it alone can fuck right off because it is not welcome here. Or there. Or under there. Or up there. Or down there...

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