I am doing the 10,000 daily steps challenge for the British Heart Foundation. At first, I thought I’d made a big mistake and would only manage 1000, but, in fact, I’m smashing the target most days. The steroids probably help!
This is the kind of disabled person with cancer that I want to be, this is how I want to be thought of. Not wallowing in self-pity or dreading future recurrences.
There’s enormous pressure – probably self-inflicted – to maximise the days I feel well. Don’t overdo it, they warn. But I want my children to notice this version of me, not me throwing up every morning, not me crying because I’m too tired to tidy up again.
Yes, they still ask why I walk funny, why I have a button for injections, why I have one boobie. Yes, I still struggle not to feel jealous when others’ scan results are nothing to worry about.
I will be in bed today by 8pm, too tired to stand up, but pleased that I met my daily goals, prescribed by my smartwatch and my favourite quote: What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
These Boobs Were Made For Talking 