Behind the Eight Ball

Thursday was a wonderful day. I went to a work event for the first time since February for an away day. Everyone was very warm and pleased to see me. The ‘no hug’ plan went out of the window. Unexpectedly I was showered with giant cards and thoughtful gifts. My colleagues had made a collection to mark me going off on sick leave. I’d forgotten this was the official date. An art materials subscription and a book a month curated by the team. Literally the best present ever for me and all I need in my life right now. How lucky am I to work with colleagues who know me so well. It took me by surprise when my boss made his very touching speech. I could hardly take in the kind words and nearly had an Accidental Emotion. A day of creative exchange and celebration of simply seeing each other again did me good. Later a group of us managed to get a private room for dinner in a cozy Greek restaurant off Store St called The Life Goddess. Felt appropriate. That’s how I’d like to be remembered haha. Spending the day made me remember how much I value being around clever, right minded, engaged, funny people. I made me want to go back to work but I’ve learnt my lesson from last time. It’s a mistake to go back too soon, before your body is ready and more disruptive to keep changing your mind. Even one day took its toll and I could feel the burn by the end. Plus this is by no means a stable situation yet. I just happen to be having a good week. I’m definitely not ready to be thrust into the ups and downs of other people’s dramas and I can’t really take anything that’s not life and death too seriously. Fortunately I don’t need to work anymore as my very generous income protection insurance will cover me indefinitely now. But I like to work and I work to an extent out of a sense of shared mission. I get more from it than money. I spotted a tote bag in the lobby of Senate House library where we were having our away day, it said ‘Innovation is Political’. Never a more accurate and concise statement for why I work. I asked them nicely and they gave me one.

So, to the point. Some unwelcome news landed today relating to scans. Today I learnt that I had another tumour. It’s pretty hard to describe the effect of News when you’re already on the back foot managing uncertainty. I’ve never really understood the phrase Behind the Eight Ball but this is it. In pool it means to be in a difficult, disadvantageous, or risky situation—one that’s hard to get out of or that puts you at a strategic loss. That’s where I am right now. No matter how positive you are it is still hard to right yourself every time there is bad news. There’s no get out of jail free card. No simple fix. It requires more patience and toughness than I have ever had to muster. And it will not necessarily be fixed this time. The results were from a scan from end of May so the situation may be different now but I didn’t know about it so it’s new to me. I had been hassling the oncology department to call me back to see if there were results from my full body PET scan last Wednesday as I cannot possibly wait till July 8th. The wonderful Macmillan Navigator service is always there if you are feeling like you’re in the dark you can call and request a call back from your specialist nurse. So somewhat reluctantly (as I now know from my dealings with the charity exactly how much it costs each time) I rang to ask the hospital to call me back.

1.45pm – the call came in the middle of a very nice lunch with an old friend at the Ivy in Windsor. They didn’t have the results yet but there was other news. It was unexpected as it was not the news I was looking for but Bernie my specialist nurse did have the results of a hip scan which I hadn’t received yet. I’d forgotten about this one and kind of assumed there was no news since no one had rung me. It was a frustrating call as she was concerned about telling me bad news on the phone when I was somewhere crowded and the line was breaking up but I made her tell me anyway. I said I was fine but it actually wasn’t ideal.

The tumour is on my left hip. Close to the other one but on a different bone. The existing one is on the acetabulum. The new one on the iliac joint I think. The hip ones worry me because I don’t want to lose my mobility as a result. It’s a big deal and my other hip has osteoarthritis so I notice it getting harder to stand and get moving when I’ve been sat a while.

That makes 8 in total. This is tough to process as I was feeling I was on an upward curve. It may just be that this one didn’t show up on my original PET scan but any news of a tumour you didn’t know about always lands with a dull thump. Eight. Eight tumours. Fuck. That’s a lot isn’t it? All week I’ve been seeing the number 888. It is a very lucky number in Chinese numerology. My collective inbox of unopened emails is around 888 so I was trying not to take it as ‘a sign’. Lucky for some. Not for me. At least not today. I’ve got myself into a pretty neutral state about the number of tumours but I’m not a stone. I was ok in the moment but quite wobbly on the train home. I really thought my positive attitude would make it all go away. At least three tumours either weren’t picked up on the initial PET scan at the end of Feb or appeared in the few weeks between that and my starting chemo whilst they were deliberating. It feels like the cancer has been moving through my body like a wildfire. I should get the updated PET scan results Monday so at least I’ll know what’s going on now. The extra tumour on my left hip is news from the end of May just a few weeks after treatment started. It’s still early days in treatment but I have to be honest I was hoping for a miracle as I feel so good. Eight is an adjustment. Eight. And so bizarre as I can’t really feel a thing.

By 4pm I’m on the train feeling gutted and emotional, trying to find an ok place to be with my News. I can’t afford to get blown off course with every vicissitude. It’s exhausting and debilitating to get upset or down about it. What do you do with yourself when the news is relentlessly bad? Just breathe? When the outcomes are poor or worsening this seems like cold comfort. I’m trying to carve a special space out where I can rest in sobriety. Not wallowing in sadness or grief but just allowing myself to be with this thing that is somewhat beyond my control. Just breathe. Just be with the news as I would support a friend. And be with friends. I don’t really want to talk about it. I want to get on with my life and do normal things. If I were religious I suppose I would put my faith in a higher being. But without faith you are reliant on other humans. On the train I get talking to a man about his black Labrador and the fact that he makes his own organic snacks for it. The dog takes to me (dogs don’t generally) and I take this as a sign as it starts comforting me. Leaning on me with its big eyes and licking my feet which makes me laugh. Dogs know.

A born again Christian Uber driver tried to convert me the other day. He picked me up from the hospital and asked me if I’d hurt myself so I told him why I was there. He talked endlessly about his faith and asked me where I got hope from if I didn’t believe in God. It was a good question. I said I believe in connection with a higher purpose perhaps but I can’t stand dogma. He asked what my problem was with the church. I listed a few crimes well known and less well known. But these are human crimes he says. That’s enough for me to mistrust the church I say. But I am happy for you that you have found your faith. Thank goodness it was only a trip from Hammersmith. He was about to get on to the church’s attitude to homosexuality. I was glad when the ride ended.

5pm I get home and decide to spend just one hour quietly by myself before we open our art studios for a private view ahead of the open weekend, just sitting with my News and allowing a quiet mood to hang over me. Later I promise myself I will step out into the sunshine and heat of this beautiful day and hang out with artists and people who want to talk about art as if nothing is happening. I’ll wrap up number eight in a black velvet cloth and put her to bed with the rest of my rock collection and welcome her to the family. She can hang out with us for a while before mama unicorn comes and drops all the rocks in the pond. You’re all a part of me but some parts we can let go of. I don’t need to carry any of this forever. The cancer is not me and I am not my cancer. It’s just something that happened. No drama. I am not attached. They will scream when they realise what is happening but I will be calm and dispassionate and drop them to the bottom of the river.

I still truly believe I can control this cancer with my mind. My best weapon is my positivity. I can’t let these small ups and downs allow doubt to creep in. I like the number 8. 7 is so awkward. Bring it on. I feel like the last female warrior in a movie. Battle worn but still swinging her sword as the battle rages all around. I raise it aloft. Come and fucking get me if you dare.

6pm I woke up groggy from a bad dream where the phone call with the nurse continued. I dreamt that she told me I had a hundred tumours and they got it all wrong and I should put in a complaint. I awoke confused and not knowing what was real. I forced myself to get up and get dressed and went to the island as planned. It was just comforting to be around people I trusted and it made it easier. Strong pink pepper gin helped too but I shouldn’t be drinking. Oh well. Devil may care. Sometimes I just need to be a normal gal. I covered a new painting in gold leaf to represent the sun on a dull day against a stormy sea and it calmed me.