I will always associate my cancer treatment with the Lord of the Rings films. The Fellowship of the Ring came out during my first round of chemo, The Two Towers was released whilst I was in hospital during my bone marrow transplant and The Return of the King was released the week that I learnt that I was a year in remission.
Back then, this quote gave me a lot of inspiration:
Frodo: I wish [the Ring] had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.
Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.
And that's what I've been doing since then. Deciding what to do with this time that I have. Trying to fit in as much as I can while it lasts. And strangely, this year, adjusting to the fact that it might go on for quite a while - this whole future before me that I have to plan out - has been hard.
Frodo: I cannot do this alone.
Galadriel: You are a Ring-bearer, Frodo. To bear a Ring of Power is to be alone.
I always liked that one too.
Monday 18 June 2007
Saturday 16 June 2007
Wow, that's really sharing!
When you have a bone marrow transplant you lose the immunity that you've built up against diseases. Two years after my transplant I was reimmunised against polio, diptheria, tetanus, pneumonia and HiB. This summer I'm going to be teaching abroad for six weeks and I've had a few extra immunisations. One of the ones I had was the BCG immunisation against tuberculosis - an immunisation that I'd had previously at school.
A few weeks later, at a meeting of people who are also going to teach at this English language camp, someone asked what jabs we'd all had. I said I'd had Typhoid, Hepatitis A and the BCG. Someone asked if I hadn't had the BCG when I was fourteen. I said that I had, but I'd had a skin test and I was no longer immune. They said that they'd never heard of that happening - they didn't know it could run out. I said that I'd had a bone marrow transplant a few years ago, so most of my immunisations didn't count anymore.
They responded by practically bellowing, "Wow, that's really sharing! I thought we'd leave all that personal stuff until we got there." And they went on and on about it. I explained that I was nearly five years in remission, was totally healthy, and was able to get travel insurance so obviously nobody expects anything to happen. But they went on and on. I know that this person is loud, but it just seemed a really odd reaction. The tone of their emails has changed since then too.
And people wonder why I avoid telling people.
A few weeks later, at a meeting of people who are also going to teach at this English language camp, someone asked what jabs we'd all had. I said I'd had Typhoid, Hepatitis A and the BCG. Someone asked if I hadn't had the BCG when I was fourteen. I said that I had, but I'd had a skin test and I was no longer immune. They said that they'd never heard of that happening - they didn't know it could run out. I said that I'd had a bone marrow transplant a few years ago, so most of my immunisations didn't count anymore.
They responded by practically bellowing, "Wow, that's really sharing! I thought we'd leave all that personal stuff until we got there." And they went on and on about it. I explained that I was nearly five years in remission, was totally healthy, and was able to get travel insurance so obviously nobody expects anything to happen. But they went on and on. I know that this person is loud, but it just seemed a really odd reaction. The tone of their emails has changed since then too.
And people wonder why I avoid telling people.
Tuesday 1 May 2007
So, what are your long term plans?
I've been interviewing for PhD places lately. One question, that almost always comes up, is about my long term plans. I know I should answer that I want to go into industry, or I plan to do a postdoc, or something. But everytime they ask me, it just makes me want to laugh and cry.
I'm in remission, I'm doing brilliantly, all signs are good. As far as most people know, I've moved on and am living a normal life. Actually, most people just don't know that I've ever had cancer. My hair has grown back, my face has lost that puffiness, my eyes don't look so doped out any more. But I don't think I'll ever get back to having that faith in my future - that I can plan five or six years in the future and expect it to work out.
It's not that I think my cancer will come back (although it might), or that I'm afraid of getting a secondary cancer as a result of treatment (although that might happen as well) - it's that cancer has changed the way I see my future. I'm happy planning in the here and now. I know what I want to do this summer - my last long summer after I graduate - and I've planned that. I found it easy to plan what lab placements to do in previous summers - I think because it was achievable in time I already knew I had.
Deciding to do a PhD - or what topic - or where to apply - or how highly to rank different criteria when deciding where to go was something that I found very hard. It all has a sense of not being quite real. People say that "It's only a few years" - but they might be my only few years. I feel that I really need to get it right - that I have to make the right choice. I didn't really expect to survive through college and to graduate - or I didn't dare to expect it - and now it's only a few weeks away. I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to be doing next.
I want to believe that I'll survive years into the future, and that no obstacles or problems will come my way. It's something I want more than anything in the world. So when someone asks me that question, it's almost as if someone has sat down a normal, regular person, and asked them in all seriousness, "So, what would you do if you won the lottery?" - only a million times more so. Because instead of asking how I'd spend money, they're asking how I'd spend weeks, hours, minutes and seconds that I'm not sure I'll ever have.
I freeze up, each and every time they ask me.
I'm in remission, I'm doing brilliantly, all signs are good. As far as most people know, I've moved on and am living a normal life. Actually, most people just don't know that I've ever had cancer. My hair has grown back, my face has lost that puffiness, my eyes don't look so doped out any more. But I don't think I'll ever get back to having that faith in my future - that I can plan five or six years in the future and expect it to work out.
It's not that I think my cancer will come back (although it might), or that I'm afraid of getting a secondary cancer as a result of treatment (although that might happen as well) - it's that cancer has changed the way I see my future. I'm happy planning in the here and now. I know what I want to do this summer - my last long summer after I graduate - and I've planned that. I found it easy to plan what lab placements to do in previous summers - I think because it was achievable in time I already knew I had.
Deciding to do a PhD - or what topic - or where to apply - or how highly to rank different criteria when deciding where to go was something that I found very hard. It all has a sense of not being quite real. People say that "It's only a few years" - but they might be my only few years. I feel that I really need to get it right - that I have to make the right choice. I didn't really expect to survive through college and to graduate - or I didn't dare to expect it - and now it's only a few weeks away. I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to be doing next.
I want to believe that I'll survive years into the future, and that no obstacles or problems will come my way. It's something I want more than anything in the world. So when someone asks me that question, it's almost as if someone has sat down a normal, regular person, and asked them in all seriousness, "So, what would you do if you won the lottery?" - only a million times more so. Because instead of asking how I'd spend money, they're asking how I'd spend weeks, hours, minutes and seconds that I'm not sure I'll ever have.
I freeze up, each and every time they ask me.
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