The 17th of August.
On, I had such a great sleep. Only briefly interrupted, and I was in bed until ten, although I could easily have stayed much longer. I got dressed without doing any hair or makeup because I really wanted breakfast. I have felt human enough to eat proper things today. This morning, I blogged the last four days which took a while, and Alison came over to borrow some cake tins as she has to make more cake for a chess thing that Chris has tonight.
This afternoon, I’ve been to the GP’s to have the nurse take the stitches in my leg out. Took about twenty seconds. Then we ended up on a little jaunt to find batteries. First, Pets at Home for hamster food, then we went to Boots for a watch battery, but they didn’t have the right one. We tried Comet, but no joy there either. Then I had a brainwave and thought I’d look at Maplin who did indeed have the correct battery in stock so we went there and I bought two.
Lots of Becky and James’ proper wedding photos are online now and they’re so pretty. Except the one in which it looks like I’m asleep.
The 18th of August.
Today is eight years since I was diagnosed with cancer. Eight years since Mark sat me down, said “We found leukaemia cells in your bone marrow” and everything else was white noise. A third of my life consumed by being sick, scared, strong, and now suspended in a state of fine-but not-fine.
It’s a hard place to be. In life, you usually are working towards something, you have things to do each day, objectives to aim for, goals to achieve. I don’t have those things. I’m trying really hard to think of reasons why I should keep going. I find it difficult to envision myself in even a couple of years, let alone getting into my thirties and beyond.
Part of me doesn’t know if I want to. Years and years of every day not having any point to it. I like it when people sign up to be donors because of me, but is that enough? I could only leave home if I employed a full-time carer or had a partner to look after me and both of those ideas are impossible. No man is going to take on the burden of me, and I think living on my own would make me so lonely I’d kill myself, never mind the financial issues.
I know I should be grateful to still be alive and I am; I’ve done wonderful things and been incredibly happy, but I just sometimes wonder if it would matter if I wasn’t here at all. I am both sad and not sad. But honestly, a little bit more sad.