Freefall

Not much to report from radioworld - except that it is just that. Still hard to plan anything much around the daily visits to the machines. I'm pleased to report that I have not experienced too much 'sunburn' and the skin is holding up well with the help of a vat of Aloe Vera gel alongside the acqeous cream they give you at the hospital.

Mum has been staying this week and I don't know how she stuck it out so long as I have not been on my best behaviour. Rather the opposite. I don't know where in the symptom manual they mention that radiotherapy puts you in a very bad mood - but that seems to be the effect it has on me. She left this morning and I am wracked with guilt. I have sent her a Mother's Day card that says 'Sorry I can't be with you on Mother's Day, but the washing is done and I don't need any cash'. It should also have said - the freezer is full, there are flowers on the table and the beds are made. It's crap being an invalid, but it's worse being around one.



There is blossom on the newly planted trees in our street and I remember that when I started this journey there was no blossom - and no trees. Life, the seasons and time has marched on and still I am in treatment. It felt strange at Luc's Mother's Day assembly yesterday seeing women who are suddenly 7 months pregnant - as if their babies have come from nowhere - not to mention the hoards of new parents I don't recognise at all. It's difficult being in crowds. Everyone now seems to know what's been happening to me and I don't know what to say. 'How are you?' That's a tough question. 'Fine'. There is no other response. And I am fine really but it just doesn't cover everything. I still find hardest the people I barely know who won't take 'fine' for an answer and look searchingly into my eyes hoping to find something more satisfying. I think there is a certain pleasure - or reassurance - in being faced with someone who you believe to be worse off than yourself. I cannot deny feeling that way myself at times. But being the object of it is disturbing.



The highlight of the morning for me was when Luc begrudgingly mumbled into the microphone, 'My Mummy is as beautiful as a butterfly'. My moment of maternal glory was shortlived however, as he later admitted that he'd been forced to step in and say the line for a child who was absent. It was good while it lasted...


Emily is thrilled as on Wednesday, the lovely Lisa cut her a fringe. Emily is delighted and can't stop glancing at herself in mirrors and shop windows. She looks odd. Not like my Emily. I keep asking her to lift it up so I can see her face - but she is enchanted with her new look. She had a great time at scout camp last weekend and a blast with the choir at the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans - Mu-um...) awareness day at Hackney Town Hall, from which she came back with a free rape alarm...much to my mother's surprise.

I finally managed to prise Francois' credit card from him and get him to agree to a wonderful week away for us both in June - so while long suffering Mum comes up once again, we will be at a Cretan hotel spa. It is not just me who is in desperate need of a break. Poor Francois is more tired than a person should be having had barely a day off in months and I am thrilled that I have managed to persuade him to take a break.


Despite the grumpiness, I feel as if I have reached another level of acceptance with this cancer thing. As I said to Catherine yesterday when she commented that she would never jump out of a plane, I wouldn't rule it out. I'm not going to start saving for a parachute jump - not quite there yet - but it is starting to really hit home that the only time is now. I can feel a little glimmer of excitement that the days will soon be mine again, and that I have no time to waste.