Released On 10 December 2024
Barbara's blog: The Good Bad News
According to Cancer Research, one in two people in the UK is likely to receive a cancer diagnosis at some point in their lives, up from one in three. Whether this is due to our process food-rich western diet, pollution or genetic make-up is irrelevant. When the news is delivered, it is always unwanted and often followed by a sense of dread.
“Will I live?” I asked. “You will”, the kind doctor replied, “it is in the earliest stage possible and has not spread. The womb excels at keeping things contained. However, you will need a hysterectomy, to ensure the risk of metastasis is removed”. The buzzing in my head quietened and my heart felt lighter: this was ‘good bad news’ after all. Curiously, my next thought was how easy it had been to instantly recalibrate my level of tolerance towards a disease that ordinarily would have struck a paralysing fear. At an imaginary poker table, I was silently betting my odds: I see it’s cancer and I raise you its earliest form. I see it requires major surgery and I raise you a laparoscopy. All-in, for no further treatment after the operation. Please call it. I just want to live.
Everything happened so quickly: I had had no symptoms, and the abnormality was only discovered through a routine scan, so it was completely unexpected. Between the confirmed diagnosis and the surgery it was exactly one month, so it felt like I was caught in a whirlwind of preparations, at work and at home. I had no time to dwell on the magnitude of what was happening. In order to keep laser focused on the outcome, all the doubts, anxiety and existential crises had to be filed deep in the back of my mind.
This meant, among other things: not catastrophising by insisting Husband and I should agree a plan in case he suddenly became a single father. Not dwelling on the injustice of having the type of cancer that generally affects obese, diabetic, hypertensive individuals, when I am none of these. And then rationalising the risks of the general anaesthetic on the morning of the operation, as the anaesthesiologist rattled off the statistics: realistically, it would have been impossible to have the surgery without anaesthetic, and not having the surgery would have meant the cancer would grow and eventually kill me. No point dithering. The only sensible decision was to proceed.
Within two days I was back home and feeling remarkably well. Telephone support was available round the clock for the practical aspects of the recovery, but I alone had to face the existential demons. From the beginning, I struggled to say the ‘c word’ out loud (cancer, not Christmas! #iykyk), when talking about the ordeal with friends and family. It felt like I was scraping nails down a blackboard, so I hid behind euphemisms. Furthermore, being a strategist, I tend to naturally think beyond the detail and, while this is useful in my job, it meant I became fascinated and preoccupied with the ‘what ifs’.
Our lives are shaped through myriad of infinitesimal interactions with others and our surroundings which nudge our decision-making and set our path. But causation is complex, and the intricacy and power of this alchemy is lost on us, until a crisis forces us to retrace the steps that led to it. It is ironic that the etymological definition of crisis is actually decision. Slightly different choices could have brought a number of different outcomes. It is not lost on me that in the multiverse – quantum physics’ or Marvel’s! - I am both completely healthy and dead. Schrödinger’s cat personified.
I recognised the peril of spiralling into a black hole of despair toward what could have been, so I fully embraced the cliches that are famously beneficial for mental health. Going back to work, spending time with friends and family, walking my dog in nature, making time for yoga and meditation, activities that focus our minds, force us to be present and grateful for what we have. I will continue to celebrate the ordinary things that soothe the demons to sleep.
Barbara works as an environmental strategist for the aviation regulator and lives a stone’s throw from the South Downs, with her 18-year-old creative daughter, 17-year-old ingenious son and supportive husband.
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