The small hours

You’d think I’d have conked out like a light after today which is now yesterday. But no. The sleep switch is still set to wide awake as it always is these days. Have crept downstairs again to think about things and wonder whether I can really allow myself the luxury of not worrying. The oncologist will give me my risk factors and talk about ‘the bigger picture’ when I see him on Tuesday but despite having the best possible news I can’t quite let go of the nagging doubts. This is a strange feeling. As if I’ve come to the end of a journey I’m still in the middle of. I fear it may not be wise to let down my guard completely, because even in best case scenarios there is always the possibility that the cancer will come back, even though there is a good probability that it will not. Uncertainty is still the only certainty - even if the odds are getting better.

The children, and Luc in particular, is like a little barometer of me. Tonight I told them that the good news and we opened some Champagne and had a toast to which he raised his glass and danced around shouting 'No more cancer!' I still feel as if I'm in a film where nothing is real and I can see myself from the outside looking in.

Why is it I never feel as I think I'm going to? At every step of this journey I need to regroup, re-evaluate and reconsider. It is exhausting. I know that tomorrow and the next day and hopefully for many days after I will feel real and profound joy at doing simple things that have been so difficult since July. I can't wait to watch a TV programme all the way through, to read a good book and to cook again - and maybe one day I will put my head on the pillow and fall asleep for 8 straight hours. For now I wish there were no nights, only days.