l had a meeting today with a gentleman who tells me every time we meet that I should write a book about my experience in human resources… as a guide to those who maybe don’t have a personnel department. It’s tempting of course, and then there are all the shenanigans from 20 plus (eek) years of experience. I would literally need to seek releases to tell some of the stories I have amassed and even then…

It’s interesting…one thing that seems to have has thrown people is the fact that I am trying to life my life and work as normally as possible, and to be honest, I’m more or less managing. I’ve felt pretty good over the last few weeks, my abdomen is nicely healing and I am almost fully mobile. The dreaded chemotherapy hasn’t provided the avalanche of side effects that every single medical professional went through in detail. Of course this may change but for now I’m taking my current status as a win.

I made the decision to talk very openly about what I am going through from the beginning. I wanted to share what this journey is really like. The early struggles when trying to find a doctor who could see me, getting a simple consultation. I couldn’t (more on that later) so, I was forced to spend hours in A&E waiting rooms praying that I’d get time with a physician who could help me. When it became clear that I was in fact in some trouble, my patient identification bracelet changed to a red colour every time I went to the hospital. I mean if you didn’t know something serious was wrong, well if you have a red bracelet… changes are…

I mentioned the meeting earlier with my wonderful consultant who was curious as to how I was managing in my new role, notwithstanding all the other challenges in life. We chatted through many subjects and then he said something that really resonated. You see a lot of people have, well, I could say commented, but the truth is some people have been quite probative, wanting to somehow, unlock my demeanour. OK so that’s a bit consultant speakey, basically some people assumed my positivity was some sort of mask. A mask that would, if it had not already, crack. I was told it was OK to cry. I mean, yes of course, but, well, that’s not me and really that’s my sh1t to manage. Speaking frankly, if I have to shave my head there will most likely be tears, but then I’m owning the head wrap and I’m going to have the coolest wraps I can get my hands on!

I don’t blame anyone for wanting to understand these things, but it’s interesting how powerful words are to someone who is going through this journey. The first time a doctor told me that something wasn’t right I knew it was serious. They never used words that you hear in real life, rather, “your gynaecology is not reading on the scan as normal”. This was followed by “that changes things”. Then no more. For the following 3 months, every time I spoke to a doctor they never, ever mentioned Cancer. If they did, it was suspected.

When I got my diagnosis, it was specific, delivered in a considered manner and actually quite short. There it was. Relief. Now here’s the thing, I get that when you share this with others that it hits their own mortality. I also now know that for some they really don’t want to deal with this at all, so they do what they think is the right thing, in my case, they contacted my husband. I do get it. But that’s a lot for partners. Worth thinking about that in my humble opinion…

Which is why I decided to be very open. At work I shared an email so that everyone knew what was happening, what was likely to happen (the hair) and basically gave them permission to ask me anything. I genuinely don’t mind, ask away I said, and I meant it.

It was not until the meeting mentioned earlier that I understood which coping methodology I had chosen to adopt. My wonderful friend and consultant simply saying, “you have just project managed your way through this”. Of course! Yes I have. Once again a conversation with him and a light bulb moment therein. Genius. I won’t and can’t say this is a recommended or even good approach, but it’s worked for me, in so much as I can chomp through this journey and mentally… well… cope.

We have a ways to go and it might all go south but for now, we’re good. Now that I better understand my mechanism of dealing with all this… I have even more clarity of thought.

I promised to talk more about getting a consultation with a doctor. Whilst out for a walk after my surgery I decided to push our daily “around the block” amble. Me being me I decided to add two blocks when I had only managed one up to this point before needing to return to the safety of my hospital bed. It was just as I realised I was getting dizzy and 3 blocks was waaaay to far that the phone rang. The good people in UCLH had written to my GP (who I’ve never seen as I’ve not needed a Doc in 15 years), he rang to offer his help because of my “current medical needs”. I nearly lost it, but also realised I was likely to faint imminently. I would be still waiting for an appointment if I had to depend on that practice.

So here come all the disclaimers. I speak only for myself and my journey thus far. I’m trying to live my life as normally as possible and my work and those that I support via my work is one of the most important things to me. I have wonderful support around me and I remain grateful for every card, hug, message, question, visit you name it, I love you guys.

Last weekend I was able to be present for the first Gasshuku I’ve attended since my operation, and yes I’m still being very careful, but this is what I live for, each day taking as much as possible from every experience and seeking to add as many experiences as I can get my greedy hands on! We had wonderful Senseis over the weekend and I was lovely to be in the lines and doing what I love. For those hours I felt normal, in the sense that I was just there, me being me, probably making jokes at the wrong time but struggling away with everyone else in the mad heat!

That’s me for now…until the book I guess 🙂

Love you all! x