The C-Word by Lisa Lynch

Author:Lisa Lynch [Lynch, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781407012612
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2010-04-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Something changed

A whole week and no blogging. Well, I think that speaks volumes about how this last chemo cycle has been treating me. Except that it doesn’t, really. Not even Shakespeare could explain what it’s been like, so instead I’ll tell you in a far less eloquent way: it’s been fucking horrendous.

My brain has done me the favour of making it impossible to remember just how horrific I’ve felt these past few days, but know this (and know it good): it was horrific. And while I might not remember enough to tell you about every pain and symptom and effect, I do remember enough to tell you that I just don’t think I can go through it again.

I can hear what you’re thinking. I’m almost there … nearly done it … just one more chemo to go. But that’s not just easy for you to say, it’s also no comfort whatsoever. It just serves as a reminder that I’ve got to endure this hell again. ‘You’re almost there’ is indeed a nice thing to say, but it’s also the wrong thing to say. I’m aware how much of a bitch that makes me sound, particularly to all the many people who’ve said that very thing to me lately. (At the expense of whinging even more, this warts-and-all honesty is difficult when you have a compulsive need to feel liked. Last night, unable to sleep, I lay awake drafting letters in my head to all the people I’ve liked but, I suspect, didn’t like me back, asking them what it was about me that made them keep their distance. Does everyone who has a life-threatening illness do this kind of soppy, confessional soul-searching, I wonder?)

But on with the bitchiness. I’ve had a similar problem with all the messages I’ve received while I’ve been laid up this past week. It’s a damn good job I was too sick to pick up my phone until last night because, in my state of mind over the last few days, I don’t think anyone would have liked the sarcastic replies. (‘You’ve been quiet lately, how’s things?’ ‘How’s things? Well, I’ve still got cancer, I’m in such excruciating pain that I can barely move, I’m suffocating from constant hot flushes, I can’t swallow for lumps all over my tongue and, despite being twenty-nine, my mum is having to take me to the loo, which I’m going to pretty often thanks to the fact that I’ve got the raging shits. So, yeah, things are pretty peachy, thanks.’)

I don’t like reacting like this, I don’t like P and my folks seeing me react like this, and I don’t like you reading about me reacting like this. I like to keep as many people as possible sheltered from this stuff, in just the same way that I don’t let anyone other than my immediate family see me during my sickest weeks. I’m worried that the sight of me looking like a cross between Voldemort and the Albino Monk

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