|Better to count the rainbows than the raindrops!|
I’m happy again for now but there’s no doubt this whole treatment business is playing with my emotions. It’s either the treatment or the whole hugeness of the C word being in my life full stop- I suspect the latter could actually be the case. I’ve always had an overactive imagination; I can easily torture myself playing out emotional scenes in my head or rehearsing how I will phrase bad news or just imagining the worst in crystal clear detail.
I don’t cry very often but it seems that lately when I do cry I find it hard to stop! (Little and often would be way more practical) There was a day last week when I went to bed feeling tearful- It all seems to be very much linked to my baby turning one. I felt sad that I was missing lots of him growing and changing and was angry that my diagnosis had come at such an awful time. I was still feeling slightly teary the next morning but it started big time the moment my eldest was dropped off at pre-school...The Flood! And it started as most of my sob-fests do- with a well meaning hug! What is it with people being nice? Kindness-the key to my floodgates! I managed to conceal my glistening eyes as I left but was sobbing by the time I got to the car. I’m fast thinking that having children to look after is a god send for keeping an overactive imagination otherwise occupied. It’s when everything is quiet that my mind runs wild.
Back at home I switched between trying to get a grip of myself to thinking a good cry was probably what I needed- a release. The flood truly had a grip of me- every time I got my breathing under control the whole cycle would start again. Sob-tissue-breathe-sob…
Later that day things got really out of control in the waiting room at the doctors- I was fine until a new mum came in with a baby so new it didn’t even have a name yet… instantly I felt the tears threaten. In my head all I could think was; that was me… that was me this time last year… this time last year with my new baby all happy…I was just over the moon with my amazing birth (I was THE best birther!) my baby was perfect…the sun was shining…I had no idea what was about to happen. I had sat waiting in the same seat to see the same doctor that this new mum was sitting in. I was so happy then and now some days I don’t even have the energy to go down and see my baby boy before he’s carted off be looked after by someone other than me. It breaks my heart that my husband, mum and mother-in-law can spot changes in him that I’ve not witnessed. So I sat in the waiting room and sobbed some more- so much so that a lady came to hug me- uh-oh! Now I definitely couldn’t shut the floodgates! I sat there being hugged and could think of nothing to say to this kind lady- where would I even begin to explain? I quickly tried to dream up some simple explanation… I’ve lost my phone… my guinea pig died… my car won’t start… I just kept saying ‘I’ll be alright’ (which also makes me cry because I guess that’s not really as certain as it once was).
Needless to say I was a wreck by the time the doctor saw me. He was kind and said it was important not to give myself anything else to deal with at the moment- just focus on getting better and try not to worry about anything else. I guess only mothers know about mother’s guilt!
I’m not sure what finally sealed the floodgates on Tuesday; I might just have run out of tears but by the evening I was feeling much better. Better than I’d felt before the flood- which made me wonder about the heeling power of a good old cry… maybe it had been just what I’d needed?
I am ridiculously tired after this third round of treatment and I guess tiredness and tears just go hand in hand.