From the image, you might guess that the most annoying thing about the third year post-cancer treatment is still having to take a daily tablet, but it’s not.
The worst thing about recovering from cancer is friends dying from cancer.
When I had a bald head, no energy and weird sensory things going on due to chemotherapy, I had two excellent chemo-mentors and mates. Now both gone, those two lovely people occupy a lot of my thoughts.
When you’re in that cancer whirl, emotions are slapped on the slab and fellow-sufferers speak truthfully. I’d go round to where Mark was living and we’d talk utopias and assassinations; we’d be brutal in evaluating families, politicians and the education system in particular. Other days, I’d visit Alison and see her latest handmade work; mohair teddy bears, crocheting with a monster-sized hook or just another decoration for her beautiful quirky home. With Alison, I could talk about breast surgery and why one might want a nude portrait done before losing part of oneself.
Great friendship doesn’t have to be a long term thing; it can be an intensive short-term connection that lasts. We’ll all die, and going through cancer treatment sharpens up your awareness of that. I miss my friends and that weird, timeless space that we occupied together for just a short time. I just can’t rest in peace.