Wouldn’t it be nice …

to be able to wake up and feel no pain? Wouldn’t it be nice to have entire days when you didn’t think about cancer. Wouldn’t it be nice to feel that when you tell your oncologist about a problem that you felt they were taking in what you are saying.

I completely understand that there is, in reality, little that they can do to help me and that it is really just a matter of slowing it down, potentially to a halt. I know that according to some stats the median time of survival with Metastatic Breast cancer is 26 months and I have made it to 64 months before the first signs of progression so according to stats I have been dead for over three years, but I do wish that I felt that my oncologist at least listened when I tell him about symptoms he would at least appear to be taking them in.

I lack confidence around authority figures and my childhood taught me not to express any emotion or opinions and try to be invisible so I did nothing to upset my father and bring on an Angina attack or make his emphysema worse in any way. He once told me that I would never amount to anything, that I was a nobody. A GP was once trying to do an internal exam and it hurt so much I made him stop and ran out crying with him shouting at me to come back and stop being so childish … I was about 13 at the time … When I asked my mother to help stop some of the bullying and teasing that went on at school she told me I should be happy that I made people laugh. Eventually I could stand no more and barricaded myself in my bedroom and wouldn’t go to school ever again when I was 14 and they gave up physically forcing me out of my room to go to school. I remember having my fingers pealed off the bedframe and being dragged out. Roll on about 30 years and I read an article about something they were calling school phobia and how you should not force the child to return to school.

I guess that because I was made to feel stupid and worthless as a child, and nothing has happened in my life to make me really believe otherwise, I do not think that anyone could take me seriously, or that I was worthy of any help because there really was virtually none, or at least none that included me in the conversation. So why, now I am 53, should anyone take any notice of me. I lack communication skills to be able to explain myself I suppose. Do I have the energy to want to find the skills to deal with people? As I don’t know what they are, and any time I express emotion I am made to feel that I must be punished for it and that it is not acceptable. Why is emotion unacceptable from me, when I am expected to accept it from others? Does-not-compute, does-not-compute, does-not-compute …

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