the week that was...

When I was younger, our religion teacher asked us to keep a gratitude journal, listing five things that we were thankful for as part of our class.
Each week, I struggled to fill it, writing variations of "I am thankful for my friends/learning a new song on the guitar/my knee being ok to play matches/seeing a gig."

Yesterday was an ok day. It wasn't anything special-there was work, which involved accompanying a colleague on two simple shoots with two lovely people, there was editing, there was a bit of room cleaning, there was some bread-baking, and there was my first pint since the end of the six nations whilst out with my housemates. But given how shit the last fortnight has been, yesterday is a day that I'm thankful I had.

Thursday saw me have my first endoscopy to discover that yes, I do have have stomach ulcers. And there's some damage to the lining of the stomach, most probably caused by the 15+ years long relationship I've had with painkillers. Most reassuringly, the blinding stomach pains and nausea I've had over the last few months were caused by something explicable, something fixable. I hadn't realised how much I'd been worrying about it until it was confirmed-a weight off my shoulders is putting it mildly.


Monday marks surgery No.5 for my poor knee in the last 12 months, and possibly No.10 in total....I've had that many that I'm not sure anymore. People keep telling me that I'm very calm about it, that I'm so brave to be trusting it'll work-but what other choice do i have? There's not much point worrying about-I have total faith in my wonderful surgeon to fix it, and I have total trust in my fantastic physio to help me get it back to normal over the few months after it. There are worse things to be dealing with than a knee problem, especially one I've had before.

One of those worse things happened last week with the confirmation that my Aunt can't have anymore chemo. My heart is breaking as I write those words, because it's just plain wrong. It's wrong that a woman of 53 is going to be taken from us just a few short months after a diagnosis. It's wrong that the baby of the family will leave before her elder siblings. It's wrong that my wonderful Uncle and Godfather is to be widowed, it's wrong that we won't see that cheeky grin, or hear the laughter and feel that love that radiated across a table as breakfast was shared in a home where a robin used to join us for food. It's just wrong.

After getting the news late last friday night, I spent Saturday in daze. I attempted to go shopping, but everything in the shops upset me. Happy smiling people, people meandering through shop aisles....new books, new dvds, new films coming out "soon" left me wondering would she be here for them. The Beatles All You Need Is Love left me in tears in HMV with the poor dude who worked there left wondering what this strange woman was doing crying at the shelves. Everything in the place just seemed pointless.

The only good thing I will say for cancer is it gives you time. Time to say I love you, time to sit and chat about the important things and the not so important things, time to adjust, time to grieve. I drove down to Limerick on Tuesday night as I figured it'd be the last chance I got to go down there without needing someone to drive me. It was a bittersweetly beautiful time-we sat, we talked, we ate, we laughed, we cried and it's a night I will remember to the ends of my days. Nights like that very easily put the rest of life in perspective.

Music is always a comfort at times likes this and the only bit of it that's floating around my head right now is from Damien Rice....it's fairly apt and rather true of my current state of mind...

"she broke down the other day y'know.....some things in life may change....and some things....they stay the same.....like time....there's always time....on my mind.....so pass me by, I'll be fine....just give me time...."