I Think I'm Beginning to Forgive Myself

Well my lovely Bloglets,

As is quite often the case I don't really know where I am going with my writing today.  However with the Hospital yesterday and Stephen's funeral today it is fitting to write, even if not much is said.

Firstly, I have been overwhelmed by the comments and feedback I have had from my last post.  It was a very raw thing to write and I do sometimes wonder if I shouldn't say what I do in the way that I say it.  I read the blog of another and they have a beauty with their words that I don't think I do.  There seems to be more of  peace and acceptance maybe it's because the posts are written after contemplation.  I, however, sit and type and process whilst doing it.  Or maybe...well I don't know.  So thank you to everyone who read it and let me be how I needed to be after hearing the news that Stephen had died and everything that means to me and all the shit it brought up.  Today,  I do feel a bit lighter, even though the scales yesterday did not confirm that. HA!

So, the hospital.  After various emails from my consultant, including one on a Saturday... I KNOW!!!! It was decided that as it's been about 3 weeks or nearly a month, I'm not sure to be honest, I can't remember, since I stopped taking the old drugs, it was time for a blood test just to see how everything is going.  I will find out the Leukaemic rate in about a week and depending on how that is depends on what happens.  I have a prescription for the new drugs aka drugs of doom and have at least another week of freedom.  I think, also, that shifts are taking place and after being very spotty and a bit smelly, the joys of detoxification, I really think I feel a bit better today.  Maybe a little less tired, definitely lighter and happier.  I don't know if it's my system finally rid of the old lot or because in 2 months I will be done.  I have a fuck load of work to do, I'm not entirely sure how I will get it done.  But I will.  Because I always do. And I need to let go of the mark.  It doesn't matter if I get a 2.1 or a 3rd.  Well it does a bit, for my ego, but in terms of being a therapist no one is ever going to ask me what result I got in research methods, or how was my starting your practice financial plan.  I just need to get it done and handed in and to pass.  Seeing my patients improve and getting the feedback from my supervisors in clinic is what matters.  And the fact that I have done it.  My class has gone from 22 to 9 in clinic and I am still there.  That is what I need to focus on.  Alongside all the shit that has been going on, I did it.

Anyways, back to my consultant.  I fucking love her so much!  It's amazing being listened to and discussing what will happen rather than patted on the head and sent off for 3 months and told that you are fine and to basically get on with it.  My thyroid is also going to be tested as she is not disbelieving that it's the impact of the drugs, but she is slightly puzzled as to why I still feel fucking exhausted when this time a year ago, well nearly this time a year ago, I felt much improved after about a weekish.  It could also be that I am just burnt out from my degree and in fact not much will help that and I just need to power through.

Something else has started to happen over the last few days as well, which is ground breaking, is how I view me.  It won't come as a surprise to many of you that I don't view me as others do.  I'm not sure anyone does really, however, I am highly disbelieving of what people say in terms of compliments.  I don't know why, well I do for part of it, but not the other.  When I was little I put on a lot of weight and I think alongside that I used to think I was fat, well I was, no two ways about that, but I also added ugly to it and that has stayed with me over the last 20ish years.  Don't get me wrong, I don't suddenly think I'm the most amazingly beautiful person on the planet with a figure to die for, well, because I don't.  However, I am beginning to realise that I'm not fat.  I was, yes, and my weight has yo-yo'd, but for about 9 months now, my weight has basically been the same.  There are a few pounds of fluctuation depending, but as an average I weigh 9 stone.  I showed my flatty a picture of me from Edinburgh days and he said that I was double the size I am now and was surprised by the photo.  I think it showed him that when I say I was fat, I'm not just being a girl about it.  Ok maybe fat is a bit much, but overweight, yes. So for the last 4 or 5 days I have started to be, well I suppose, kinder to myself.  Maybe beginning to see who I really am.  Being happier with me.  It's been quite a journey but I will get there.  Maybe I need to clarify that.  I am happy with me, I haven't been so happy with the external me.

And so, I should go, and this time I shall include some photos.  I feel incredibly proud and brave doing this, as one is a picture of me from 2006 when I used to tan....boo....and yesterday morning.  Until this week, I have felt like I am the size I was and bigger.

And also, a sample of the  little collection I put on twitter when I was bored at the hospital waiting for my prescription to be dispensed.  I should have done a thumbs up one for Stephen, which I will be doing at 11 to remember him and what he did and his family and friends who have a hole in their lives and no words can make it any better.  I am also putting these photos on here because it amused me hugely and I don't want you to think I don't have any laughter in my life because I do.  A lot.

Maybe I have just started to forgive myself....
With much love, laughter and hope,
XXX

Guilt. Anger. Needing Forgiveness.

It’s funny when you say someone has died.  But.  In fact it’s anything but funny.  It’s tragic and awful but not for the person that has died.  They have gone to that blissful place we know nothing about and that is scary.  We do not embrace and accept death in this country as some nations and religions do. It’s a daunting thing that we don’t acknowledge but the only thing in life, and it’s the one fucking certainty in life regardless of what else happens, that we will die.  There is no escape.  Some people live for a day and some live for 100 years.  There is no rhyme or reason why.  It just is.

So today another death.  Of a truly remarkable 19 year old who I met last October and shared a stage with. We both talked about our stories but you couldn’t get much different.  Today his story ended and mine continues.  And the whole nation knows about him.  And only a few know about me.

Guilt.

Why me.

It’s not fucking fair.

Why am I alive.

Why am I allowed to whinge.

What have I got to complain about.

Where is my recognition.

So much.  Everything.  Nothing.

What about the rest of us?  Those that slipped away with only those around them knowing.  Those of us who carry on every day but with a silent burden.

I’m listening to the playlist I made when I did the London Marathon in 2012 for the Teenage Cancer Trust of course.  Who else?  A charity I love so much, feel so possessive about, that does so much and that I was denied treatment with because there wasn’t a unit in Edinburgh in 2007.  There is now, thank fuck.  A small charity no one really knew about, and now...  I know I wrote about this last time, it’s all still so raw.  Why does one person get catapulted into ‘stardom’? Because they are going to die.  Imminently at 19.  I was on my gap year at this point I was away in Australia or Thailand being 19, not dying, not taking my last breath.  And yet…what about me?

So selfish.

There is so much in my head but I don’t know how to get it out.  How can I when I sound like a twat?  I can’t begin to imagine how Stephen’s family feel today.  I have no concept of what it is like to lose a child, a sibling… I don’t know if he had brothers or sisters.  I can’t imagine what it would be like to say goodbye to Claudia or Milo.  I can’t.

I feel exhausted.  I am exhausted. And confused, well conflicted, and because of that feel like a bad person who cannot simply rejoice in what Stephen accomplished and it how full his life was, especially in the last four years since his diagnosis.  I feel angry.  Angry at myself.  Angry at my diagnosis.  Angry that I didn’t have TCT when I was diagnosed.  Angry that I still have to take these fucking drugs which dictate my life.  Angry that my life is not fully mine.  Angry at consultants and angry because I am not recognised at a national level which is, I know, absolutely fucking stupid.

I know I need to do a lot of self-work, I just need to get through these next 8 weeks and finish my degree and get all my work done.  Then I can give myself the space to acknowledge and process and heal and forgive.  Because I have to.  I can’t carry on feeling like this.

Maybe that’s why I met Stephen, why he came into my life.  To teach me that I still have so much to do to help me and I need to. Maybe once I have forgiven and let go of all the anger I can finally fully heal.

I don’t know.  All I can do is hope…

XXX

I Had a Dream

Well my lovely bloglets,

When I was little, I of course had my life planned out.  When I say little, I mean a teenager and then a twenty one year old and possibly even a twenty two year old.  And then the phone rang and my life was never the same again.  In some ways I have had to give up everything and in other ways I have gained it all.  I was talking to someone about it all on Thursday and I said, as I do because I mean it, I don’t say it to fool myself into thinking it.  I’m not like that.  I am honest with myself even though at times that is painful and potentially a bit self-destructive.  He asked me how much of cancer has made me, me.  How much of my response to life is because of it or because that’s who I was anyway.  I have been thinking about this and I don’t know.  Your twenties are formative years.  At University discovering who I was.  Living away from home was not a first; I had lived at school from the age of 13 and then had a gap year including 5 months travelling, so in many ways I was already very independent.  I was used to changing my sheets once a week, used to not being with my parents.  I don’t mean this to sound like I regret it.  I don’t.  I fucking loved, on the whole, my time at boarding school.  I went to a wonderful school and made some incredible friends.  Maybe it was my time there that made me, me.

Change and uncertainty are upon me.  Both with the new chemo, I have another week off and then, if my prescription has been processed, I start, in a week.  I don’t want to.  I really don’t. I have to take these drugs because of some wankers who don’t know what it’s like to take them.  Who don’t know about side effects and that in some ways I gave my life up at 22.  How dare they refuse me the drug that my consultant thinks are the best for me?  There is a reason I’m changing and why that one was chosen.  And the fact that I’m probably going to be intolerant to them as well and fasting.  It’s going to be a fucking nightmare and I don’t want to get used to it.  Once again, making my life fit around the hospital and the drugs.  It’s not fucking fair.  And I’m still fucking knackered.  Yes, I have been doing a lot of Uni work over the last week – dissertation deadline is looming and I’m seeing my supervisor on Thursday which has put the fear into me, so I’m getting my head down and doing as much as I can so far to show her I have been doing it and am getting on with it.  Don’t really want a bollocking.  Also, I want it done.  I have been tempted to defer it to next year, but I don’t want to. I want to finish in July.  I want to graduate in November.  If I don’t get it done, that won’t happen and it will be another year until I do.  I have been sleeping between nine and ten hours a night for the last week and I still feel like I’ve been punched in the face.  I just want to sleep and to not want to sit crying all the time.  To be on the sofa doing nothing.  Able to go and enjoy friends birthdays without constantly clock watching and working out how much sleep I will get depending on when I leave.

I also know it’s the last stretch of a fucking insane year of a fucking intense degree. 

Finishing in July.  It’s getting scarily close.  Still 6 more deadlines.  And then.  No longer a student.  Do I focus on setting up my practice and hoping I get enough clients to cover my rent and bills or do I get any job so I know I am financially secure but that takes time away from being a Naturopath.  I have not done these last four years to not be a Naturopath.  It’s what I am.  What I am meant to be doing.  I am fucking good at it.  I know that. Money just gets in the way of a lot.

I saw my sister yesterday and her bump which is wonderful.  I can’t wait to be an Aunt in August.  I am however all too aware of my body clock, the tick getting louder each day.  I have wanted a baby since I was ten.  This is no surprise; I just thought that by now that part of my life would be a bit different.  I don’t know what has made it like this.  Why I haven’t met someone.  Well, someone that doesn’t end in a car crash that isn’t complicated and can only remain a dream.  I have a plan.  Five more years and then IVF on my own.  I really hope that I find someone but then the last 7 years hasn’t exactly gone how I had planned.  I wonder how the parallel me is doing in the parallel universe where there is no cancer ….maybe that Katie is happy.  Not to say I’m not happy.  I just… well.  There’s room for improvement and hope.  As long as there is hope I will be ok.  I am ok.  I’m just.  Processing.  All the Stephen stuff.  Talking about everything on Thursday.  Milo doing the Great Wall of China marathon for me which includes 5, 164 steps for me. (https://www.justgiving.com/Milo-Ruane1/)  I meant what fucking lunatic brother does that for his sister? Apparently mine.

I’ve just got a lot going on in my head at the moment.  And when I’m tired I find it all just a bit overwhelming.  I really thought I would be feeling ok and not tired by now….

With much love, laughter there is a lot of that I promise, and hope,

XXX