Alright, you’re thinking “that’s a bit much”. But there’s a good statistical chance it’ll happen to me, and probably you, too. Why not try to make it into something positive? We can’t control what happens to us, but we can take charge of our reactions. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to start smoking or getting regular x-rays or eating burnt toast or using roll-on deodorant or whatever just to improve my chances, but there’s no getting around the fact that I’m jealous of people with cancer.
I envy the way they manage to confront one of the most horrifying experiences of modern life with ‘Oh but I VALUE each moment SO MUCH MORE now.’ It might be down to the morphine but it seems that, if you have cancer, the world is suddenly wonderful. The sun shines more brightly, your heart overflows with love and gratitude, and, as Paul Daniels might say if he had cancer (not wishing it upon him by any means) – every second counts.
As it is, I don’t really have any sense of urgency, love or gratitude in my soul. It’s not that I’m actively ungrateful, I prefer to think of myself as pending gratitude. Perhaps one day I’ll feel what they feel – the joy, the sorrow, the sun on my bald head. But for now I’m just an anonymous woman sitting in a cafe on a grey autumn day trying to come to terms, in my own way, with not having cancer.
