I have only just written an entry with this title on it, because it truly has taken this long for me to feel that I have regained myself entirely. Up until now, I have felt like parts of me still remain in cancer's hand, and that they are out of my control. Now, whenever I am forced to tell people that a little over a year ago I had cancer, they don't believe me. "But you look so well!"
Little do they know the journey this frame has made- down the rapid spiral of disintegration only to be re-formed in a patched-up manner that scarcely resembles my old self. But slowly, piece by piece we remedy these pieces. We begin from the inside of the body and work our way out, correcting every wrong that chemo and radio hath created. Funnily enough, not cancer.
So I'm in that stage, the better end of the halfway between ill and well.
My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer last week. When I heard, I could have sworn that I would have to again endure the undignified process of staging and treatment. It was a hard task to remind myself that I had nothing to do in this process. My vessel was as well as it was the five minutes before I had heard, sitting in a lecture theatre at university attempting to continue my life. I was well, healthy and as far as I knew, cancer-free.
Then the cruel twist of fate, the realisation that I would rather have it again then have to watch another writhe in its company. I am certain it would be easier to handle if I could carry it as opposed to my seventy-year-old father who has already selected the fabric to line his coffin. As I sit and listen to his petrified ramblings and his conclusive opinions about the "odds" that he has of living, I cannot help but selfishly think... "was I like this?" Was I this unreasonable? Did I morph into this shivering example of fear personified?
So this event could be seen in two different ways. One, that as I am emerging from the filth of treatment and the ritual purging of body and soul has come to a close, I am lassoed back down into the mire for a few more months. Or two, that by seeing how ill others are, I can begin to feel healthier.
We shall see.
So I will hold my fathers hand tightly and do what ever is required of me, knowing all the time that I have wings. And they are stronger than ever before.