There is a lady I would like you to meet…
Ladies and Gents, I give you Dr Powell (or The Amazing One as I like to call her).
Excuse my tear stained face, but she had just announced that my MRI was ALL CLEAR!
Making it one year cervical cancer free.
We then got chatting about the blog and raising awareness and to hear how proud Dr Powell was that I was doing this, just made me realise how important this message we all need to spread really is.
As ever, my purple army really stepped up a gear and really made me feel supported and loved with all the pictures and banter that everyone shared. We managed to change timelines to purple lines again and I couldn’t be more proud and overwhelmed.
If it’s made one woman get a smear test that she’s been putting off or go to the doctors or got a man to have an awkward chat, then our work is in progress.
I love you all.
One year. Tick.
I dream about my Dad often, he always crops up at some point. He’s loitering in the background. Sometimes he’s trying to get my attention. Other times he’s just watching, like he’s observing what’s going on.
I never hear his voice; I can’t remember it enough to recreate it. He was in my dream last night, sitting on a chair, nursing a drink and cigarette in hand. As I walked in he looked up.
The beam that came across his face was like looking at my own smile. The creases in his mouth and his heavy set frown. I could have traced them for hours.
He set down his drink and stubbed out his cigarette.
His immaculate suit falls into place with a shirt that was proud to be pink and there, neatly folded in his breast pocket, a purple silk handkerchief.
He looks at me and suddenly I could be four years old again with my arms around his neck.
An overwhelming need to smell him comes over me but there is nothing there. No scent or warmth.
He puts me down with one last crushing cuddle.
He steps me aside and walks out the room and my heart, although fractured, is pleased he was ever there at all.
You can read so much into this. Interpretation is so vast and you can either take a positive or mould it into a negative.
I used to be the eternal optimist but recent events have ripped that ability from me. The belief of seeing a positive in everything is such a great one to have.
It doesn’t take a psychic to inform me the reason why My Dad wanted to see me. Tomorrow I have my one year check for crying out loud.
But this was a comfort more than frightening and I truly believe (get the straight jacket on standby) that the reason he walked out of the room and didn’t sit back down is because he wasn’t coming to take me away from my world yet.
Or maybe he was in the wrong room.
Who knows? I don’t believe in much anymore. I lost my faith back In that consultants room that bleak November morning. I lost my positivity a few weeks back and have been clawing back ever since.
Love, that is what sees me through.
Whatever it means, whatever that dream holds, I’m just glad he came to visit.
As I lay here in the dark, I recognise all the sounds I hear.
The intermittent crackle of the monitor.
The snuffle of breath in the air.
The teeny tiny cry of Molly wanting a cuddle.
These are all sounds I know. I hear them all the time, but in darkness I hear them loudly and clearly than ever before.
This should be reassuring, this should be what I know. But tonight they are taunting me, reminding me I’m still awake.
Awake? That’s a laugh. I don’t think I’ve been awake for months. I’m going round in a fog. I don’t feel myself and kind of look like someone I used to know.
That girl who had spirit, who had fight; she is dwindling under her own weight. The one year check is looming and all the little things leading up to it are pushing you into thinking something isn’t right.
The appointment being brought forward from a Thursday to a Tuesday.
The way the MRI technician didn’t quite meet your eye when you asked if it was all ok and you were waved off with ‘Your Doctor will discuss this with you’.
The endless rounds of bloods needed. By Powell and by GP.
The weight loss again coupled with tiredness.
Yep, I’m looking into it too much. The big black dog is getting to me, more often than not these days.
The Noise is a constant hum in my left ear.
I know I’ve come so far but I’ve lost lots along the way and feel like I’m losing more each day.
I’m treading water and I’m getting tired but I’m still managing to hold my breath for a few seconds.
Tuesday 11th can’t come quick enough. It’ll then be 10 days until I turn 30. Something I wasn’t meant to do.
I should be shouting from the rooftops and letting people get sick of me going on about it.
But instead I’m in darkness. Willing the hours away. Willing the ache in my chest to pass. Willing the tears to stop falling.
Willing to be anywhere but in darkness.