The old woman in the mirror

 2019 began with a beautiful Sound Bath at The Dojo.  Numbers don't really matter at our events as we do what we do because we believe we should. If few folks attend then they must need to be in a smaller group. If no one turns up, then that's the diary angels gifting us with time for us. I don't need to know why such things happen. Its just about trust and positive intention. New Year's Day however, was one of those events when lots of folks chose to join us. Confirmation of the wonderful Dojo energy and all that folks gain from being there.

There was talk of intentions and 'Team Hubbit' was launched as Chris shared her resolution to start running again. For many years Chris supported me in my sporting days. Waiting as I lummoxed my way around the London Marathon and other races, standing on cold touchlines as I did battle with football and hockey opponents and various referees. The woman has been a legend and its so good now that I can support her in following her heart and dusting off her trainers!

It was back to hospital for bloods the day after and no problem whatsoever with my veins. Staying hydrated and keeping my hand warm has made such a difference and its so good to know there's stuff I can do rather than just leaving it to chance. Wednesday evening and a meal out with a lovely friend marked the end of the Christmas break and we were back at chemo on Thursday.

All went well once again with the cannula and completely giving in to the tiredness and other effects of the treatment allowed them to pass more quickly. It was a longer day as I was back at the hospital late afternoon for an oncologist appointment. So after chemo we went to The Sanctuary. I had an hour or so deep sleep under the healing lights of the Crystal Bed and Chris had lunch and a catch up with some lovely friends.

Back at the hospital, we had quite a long wait but that's no hardship in a warm reception area with stuff to read and no inhibitions about nodding off. And a long wait simply tells us someone else needs the specialist's time, attention and patience a bit more than we do. The appointment itself proved a positive review of progress and put plans in place for the journey beyond chemo. There was the usual prescribing of new meds to address symptoms and side-effects and discussion of the next stage in my treatment. The Radiotherapy details have yet to be decided. The most appealing scenario is that it will be just two weeks of daily treatments. However, it could be up to four weeks. I don't relish that daily trek to Preston and the treatment itself isn't on my list of 'favourite fab days out and adventures'. Within the uncertainty and resistance on my part, I trust that the Oncologist I will see after treatment 10 will make the decisions that are in my best interests.

I noticed some unfamiliar thoughts and sensations emerging with the return to chemo. Realisations really I guess. Throughout this whole journey there has been a sense of detachment that has served me well. However, when thoughts and feelings break through the protective cordon of resilience it can be quite unnerving. And for the first time recently I have experienced a sensation that can best be described as 'fear'. I guess the way I deal with fear is to identify it and tackle it through positive self talk, reassurance and humour. But something tells me I have to sit with this particular fear sensation, look it in the eyes and learn from it. And that is quite a solitary part of the journey. I guess if this dance was the 1970s Osmonds on stage, this part would be the bit where the other brothers got pissed off with little Jimmy and shoved him out front to do 'Long Haired Lover from Liverpool'. And switching into that image immediately lightens the sensation and brings the humour that makes all things possible. This thing I have labelled 'fear' is just a feeling. A stage of the dance to be passed through- hopefully without falling over my own feet or resorting to flared trousers and a wig with an unfortunate side parting!

The other realisation recently has been about the effects the treatment so far has had on my body. Its only really when I push myself too hard that I become aware of the fatigue. And the way my body is communicating with me is changing. My early warning system of the need to rest has always been a sore throat. I guess my clever old body knew it needed something a bit stronger to slow me down and its now stomach cramps that get my attention and force me to rest. But we really are ambling along in a much more accepting and restful way these days!

Chris and I decided to have a couple of nights away in the camper van. We've been looking for a site about an hour from home that we can have as a quick and easy get-away, and found an open-all-year-round site near Grange. So the Friday after chemo Chris went off to do the lunchtime Gong Bath and I chucked some stuff into the van. We were on the road for 4pm and parked up, hooked up and waiting for the kettle to boil by just after 5pm. As I've written before, time away in the van is the perfect way for me to relax. The field hospital bag of meds I take with me allows me to deal with most physical stuff that comes up. And the proximity to home on this trip meant I could be back quickly if I needed IV antibiotics.

So we were able to really relax. A good sleep, waking up to a lovely view of the estuary, a morning spent reading and listening to the CDs we bought for each other at Christmas, then a trip over to the Manjushri to be in the gorgeous energy there and eat scones. Saturday was exactly the day we'd hoped it would be. It was Sunday morning when I went for a shower that really gave me the realisation about my body.

My view on the physical has always been that there are two choices if you don't like what you see when you look in the mirror. Choice 1 is to do something to change. And in the past, when I've noticed I've put on a few pounds or am looking a bit pasty, I would choose to get out into the fresh air and exercise. The other choice of course is to not look in the mirror at all. And its the second choice I've been favouring since having surgery back in September. That morning in the shower block I came face to face with the physical reality of what the last few months has done to my body. Yes, the blue dye is still there and that just took me back to all the 'blue tit' jokes of the early days! But I barely recognised the old woman who looked back at me and had to dig deep to find reframes for reassurance. Yes I've saved a few bob in razors and haven't needed to give any attention to the former rain forest areas of my legs and armpits. But when did the hit squad of intimate waxers join the party? I'd almost looked forward to body hair loss and pictured myself flinging the window open and gifting whole squadrons of birds with nesting material. Instead, it appears the Borrowers came by night to slyly stuff duvets with what was once attached to me! And that 'bit of a rash' I've got meds and cream for now covers most of my body. Its fair to say the pallor of my skin is not unlike I imagine tripe under moonlight to look. I certainly won't be looking in many mirrors for the foreseeable future and my shower experience sent me off to ponder the gift in this realisation. 

Yes I've finally accepted and embraced the need to rest during treatment. I now accept that the impact the treatment has had on my physical body will require recovery time. It certainly won't be a case of Yaaay, treatment's over, lets get back to long days and operating at 90 MPH. I will need to rest, recuperate and heed the many lessons about listening when my body whispers so that it doesn't have to shout!

So its been a week of rest and occasional insights, both of which I give thanks for. And I consider myself very fortunate to have the love and support of some truly wise and consistent folks along the way.  



From within my Winter of Content I'm starting to glimpse some little shoots just breaking the surface in the form of new ways of looking at things. And for this and the accompanying peace which it brings, I am very grateful.

   

Liz x