Wednesday, 2 December 2015

It's raining indoors

I don't feel brave or funny or positive today.  I feel like I'm on a log flume as it cranks up towards tipping point - the tension before you plunge.  Plunging in this case into panic and tears.
Today it hurts to laugh with my children,  my mind pulling between thoughts of how special they are, what an absolute gift and please don't let me die when they're so little and will they remember me?
I'm being melodramatic.  The professionals are using words like 'hopeful' and 'cured' and 'contained' but the literature on my type states it has a higher rate of recurrence than any other in the first three to five years.
I wonder to myself if/when I recover if there will ever be a day I don't worry if I'm ill again and I pray for all the things I took for granted before diagnosis.
'I think it's time I call my friend, Pam.

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