It’s the first day of the holidays and I’m lazing in bed, children beside me. Life is good. Honestly. I have two beautiful children, a kind husband, supportive friends and family, and I don’t have to work. I’ve got a new kitchen and a purebred horse. I should pinch myself!
Oh, wait, I’ve got incurable cancer. And a disability meaning I use crutches. Don’t Google my survival stats! I’ve got five injections and eight appointments this holiday and I take thirteen tablets every day just to function. My good day is not in any way the same as yours.
There’s a narrative in my head that runs: I’m doing well; enjoy it while it lasts; when will this treatment stop working; what about this time last year when I couldn’t get out of bed; I’m lucky to still be here! ………Over and over in a loop.
I measure my life now in good days and years not decades. The idea of future planning is terrifying. The question ‘How are you?’ is unintentionally existential and you probably do not want to know the answer.
And yet. Actually, today, I’m fine thanks, how about you?!
These Boobs Were Made For Talking 