Not fretting indeed!

WARNING:  If you are feeling emotionally fragile, skip to 2)

1)Just re-read my last blog and can't believe I said I wasn't fretting about the CTscan.  Since then both appointments have come through: the scan tomorrow and the appointment with my gloomy oncologist not until April 13th.It is coming home to me at last that however much I hated the chemo at least it was something that might work.  The combination of feeling fairly sure that all is not well and the oncologist's assurance that he will not be offering me any more of this chemo (and that nothing else is available) is a bit debilitating.  People keep saying to me, 'you look so well', the inference being that I cannot possibly have cancer, and they are right.  I am going greyer, and wrinklier and I can't stand on one leg to put my socks on, but so what, I am getting old.  I walk to the school and back, and garden most of the day when it is warm, and bake, and knit, and lead worship at church, as well as getting ready to publish my picture book and working on my novel, and I don't feel like someone who is dying.  I don't suppose when I was working that I ever registered this period, sometimes quite long, when the cancer is there but not causing serious disruption.  I am living on two levels.  On one level living from day to day, enjoying life, making plans in the short term, planting stuff that won't flower for months.  On the other hand I live with the awareness that nothing is for ever, that plans may not happen, that there will always be messy untied ends.  All that is true for each of us, and it is not helpful to dwell on it, but having cancer makes the dichotomy between the two levels pertinent and painful.  It also makes communication difficult, because when I am asked how I am, I appreciate the concern, and don't want to cause hurt or embarrassment, but nor can I say: 'you don't know what it is like'.  I don't even want you to know what it is like, you wonderful people who care.

This is gloomier than my oncologist, and I don't even know whether I can post it.  I am not in good shape today, and am only blogging because Joe said I was letting all my followers down.  I had a horrendous bug 3 days ago and spent a night with my head over the loo.  In the morning I took my temperature and it was well up, which was a great relief, but I still feel a bit low, so apologies to all those who have been reading me and getting the impression it is not so bad after all.

This morning's sermon was about the raising of Lazarus, and our minister made the point that when our dignified versions of the Bible talk about Jesus being troubled in spirit and deeply moved at the tomb, the Germans have a more apt translation of angry and distressed.  It made me cry, but it helps to know Jesus was no more resigned to the horror of death than we are, but stands with us through it and brings us through it in his company.

Maybe the extent to which we cling to life is proportional to the loveliness of the life we have, and mine is lovely.  And if it can be lovely in a world that is full of war and murder and deceit and hatred, how much lovelier in the new creation God promises us.

Mary-Ann and Dave have just found me in tears (over my own blog, oh dear!) and accepted my bad day and promised they won't let me get smelly and that if we can't afford the funeral there's always the sand-pit.  How do people cope without family?

2)  So what is news?  Dave and I went to Norwich after church and bought a new car, a Kia Seconda which is big enough for all of us to go out for the day together.  I can reach the pedals, and it has heated seats!

My picture book is all complete on my desk top publishing programme and just waiting for Mick to come and make it press-ready and take it away on his memory stick.  I have an ISBN number and bar-code and I am quite impressed with it myself, maybe because so many people have taken pleasure in reminiscing.  And little Joe likes it too, so maybe I can flog a few to the school.  They do the Victorians on their syllabus, but I couldn't honestly produce any memories of the Victorians.  Joe wanted to know if those days in my book were before or after the Victorians.  Oh well!

Mary-Ann has plans to create an Italian al Fresco area outside the kitchen window, which is also outside our annexe lounge.  She wants tubs of exotic looking climbers, a water feature and fairy lights in the crab-apple tree, as well as her pine table and presumably some chairs for those hot summer days we are looking forward to.  Guess who the plans are for.

Dave has gone down the garden to sit in the sun.  It was cool out there earlier in spite of blue sky, but I think I'll take my cup of tea and join him.  I feel better for having unloaded - it helps to get things in perspective.