It’s so weird. I thought that having come to terms with cancer, that I’d somehow learned the secret of life (oh, how up my own backside AM I really????); not to sweat the unimportant things, to value what was really important. Bullshit. I’m the same flaky person I always was. How disappointing!
Out with SA on Friday. We had a really nice afternoon at Barter Books. Oh, I love that place! So chilled out and relaxed. Later, we were going out to dinner, partly to celebrate my all clear and partly to make up for my missing her birthday. She came over and while I finished getting ready I was winging on about having to wear a sports bra, about the inconvenience of having chemo and about the effect the steroids will have on my weight. She gave me a really old fashioned looks and said, ‘God, how shallow are you anyway?’ Bloody great! Yet another test of my pelvic floor. I’ve had more of those pissing myself moments since I found out about the cancer than before, certainly. She’s right of course. Having to wear a sports bra for three months (really, really S?) is not quite on a par with dying of cancer.
But given my supposedly new found wisdom, when things started going a bit apples and pears with R, I loftily thought I could rise above it. Could I buggery. I can understand why he’s drawing back. It’s fair enough. I’d do the same in his shoes, and did when F was ill. It was an enormous relief when I could get some normality and I wanted some distance. On the other side now however, it hurts; irrational maybe, but it does. Certainly, I don’t need him at the moment. But the distance is unfamiliar now after two months of full on, high tension, full support. Consequently of course, sex is a bit of an issue now. Which is OK. Normal couples experience this; things ebb and flow in relationships all the time. Except now, whenever it’s bad, I assume it’s because of my operation. I hate feeling this insecure. It’s almost worth cutting sex out of the equation altogether, so I don’t have to feel this.
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