Читать книгу Laughing at Cancer - Ros Ben-Moshe - Страница 16
Оглавление14 June 2011
The Waiting Game
Agonising suspense, major denial, nervous twitches and butterflies are consuming and extending far beyond my stomach’s reach; the countdown to D-day has begun.
Should I think about it? Or not? Even if I were to avoid it, would I manage? I can’t control my anxious and wondering mind. I’m overwhelmed by everything I want to squeeze in beforehand: taking Rufus to the vet for his annual immunisations; stocking up on his gold-plated, new-age, sensitive-stomach dry food; getting my hair cut and my legs waxed. I’ve been told to strip my toenails of any polish as during anaesthesia they provide a visual indication of oxygen levels. What a lovely thought—not. Then there’s the pantry, fridge and freezer to stock up. It’s like my own personal preparatory Armageddon. Transferring CFO (Chief Financial Officer) duties to Danny, currently our family’s CNFO, Chief Non-Financial Officer. Teaching the children new cooking skills, whilst hurriedly imparting small snippets of motherly advice to enhance their independence and buoy their self-confidence. I also need time to soak up some rays of sunshine, absorb the green blades of grass and yellow wattle blazing in the winter sunshine, cuddle the dog and of course the kids! There are just not enough hours in the day.
Who to call? Who not to call? Who to text? Who not to text? Who to email, Skype, Facebook? I’m grateful I don’t have a Twitter account and LinkedIn is purely professional.
The thinking game. Everything relates to my perception of how I will be pre and post-op. And it’s not just short-term; I can’t refrain from future projections either.
Is it naïve to be excitedly optimistic about a future immeasurably rosier and healthier? My mood is vacillating like clouds drifting across a windswept sky. I am trying to halt negative thoughts, telling myself to put them on imaginary leaves flowing in the imaginary stream in my mind. It’s what my new visualisation CD tells me to do. But my mind keeps clogging up. I can’t even access a clear picture of the stream, as for the leaves … Are they autumnal or deciduous? Oh crikey, just stop! I wonder how many negative thoughts remain steadfastly clumped together and how many have escaped.
More than ever I recognise the truth in the statement: ‘It takes a lot of strength to be strong!’ As this episode fades into the next instalment of my life, I choose to be strong. I will be invincible. I will be so strong and mighty that, as I power down the pavement, people may point in my direction, and quietly murmur, ‘Wow she might not look Schwarzenegger-esque, but you can really feel her power.’
Strength may not be something we are born with, literally or figuratively, but it is certainly something we can build, grow, nurture and work towards. It is in these challenges (big, small, and often daunting) and through all those emotional workouts and years of tests, trials and tribulations that we grow the strongest.
From mini to mighty. From pastel to bold. From dependant to independent.
Night night. xx
What experiences have made you stronger?
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In what ways?
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