Written on May 20th but not posted

There is not a minute of every day that I don’t think about having cancer. And wonder whether it will come back. And when. There is nothing I eat or drink or do that doesn’t make we wonder whether it is in that fateful mouthful or gulp that I am sealing my own fate. If I stop thinking about it and give myself a break, I worry that my nonchalance will tempt providence. By holding onto the fear I worry that the anxiety will bring the cancer back. It’s a lose lose situation. I see the world through cancer tinted spectacles. I wonder now when I look at people whether they have had or will have cancer. I don’t assume that everyone other than me is fine, but I wonder why I was the one selected for this journey. Is there such a thing as sheer bad luck or is it something I did, or didn’t do? I analyse what others do – what they eat and drink – how have they got away with it thus far? I have to find a way to live in this next phase – people tell you how they knew someone who ‘didn’t have time for cancer,’ and it went away – or someone who drank broccoli juice four times a day and became a Buddhist – and their cancer disappeared. And so I veer between a rock and a hard place – A vegetable juice for breakfast and a glass of red wine for dinner. The weight of it is exhausting. It hangs around my shoulders like an iron shawl. Too heavy to take off, but much too heavy to wear.