Where I Cry

Photo by Naae Studio on Pexels.com

I have been going through it.

I haven’t talked about it yet on the blog, because it is not really the kind of thing that I would like to talk about on the internet!

But you know, sometimes it is important to move beyond what you always thought was ‘shameful’ and spell it out…

Since switching to a different hormone therapy (for lowering the risk of breast cancer recurrence) in October 2021, I have been experiencing a constant menstrual bleed. Sometimes so unbelievably heavy that I have been left breathless and dizzy.

So abnormal that I have required two iron transfusions, and the threat of a blood transfusion to treat aneamia.

So abnormal there are several days when I am scared to leave the house for fear of an ‘accident’.

This could be down to abnormal uterine lining/fibroids – possibly caused/exacerbated by the first hormone therapy I was put on last March, you know – the one that caused a pulmonary embolism!

It could also be a normal response to my body being put into a chemical/temporary menopause at age 37, which is the main purpose of the therapy I am on, to lower estrogen levels in my body.

Anyway, so last Friday I saw myself at hospital again for further testing.

I was already freaking out about the hysteroscopy procedure I was due to have, but they needed to do a pregnancy test first.

Making sure I am NOT pregnant has suddenly become as important as it was when I was 18!

My urine was ‘too diluted’ and so the test came back inconclusive.

I had to have a blood test instead, the first nurse was unable to obtain blood, and so naturally I started crying.

I hate public crying, and yet I have become that person who cries in public – always at the hospital.

No matter what hospital I am in, the one I had surgery, the one I had radiotherapy, or my new favourite one just down the road from my flat – I find myself crying.

It usually happens when one thing goes wrong, or I have been waiting too long.

The weight of what I have been through/am going through suddenly feels so heavy, I can’t hold it anymore.

I put it down, and I cry in the waiting room.

This then makes everyone treat me like a feather, and I feel like a fool for being so emotional!

But this is where I cry.

Hospitals now feel like the safest place in the world to me. I know that if anything goes wrong they will save me.

It is also the most terrifying place, because once you’ve had bad news, you can no longer err on the side of positivity.

So I sit and cry behind my mask, until my watery and bloodshot eyes betray me, and I am asked:

“Are You Okay?”

In the spirit of being my most authentic self, I reply that I am not.

The conversation unfolds, the reveal that I just had breast cancer, and the offers of tea/coffee begin to flow.

I calm down now that the secret is out, and I get quiet and get through it.

I get quiet.

I get really quiet during these kinds of appointments which is very unusual for me.

Usually I am the girl who chats away and makes everyone feel at ease with laughter.

At these appointments, I draw into myself.

Due to Covid-19 we are still not able to have any friends/family with us most of the time, so I speak to my Angels, my Guides, and God.

I switch off my personality so that all my strength can go into getting through whatever invasive scary procedure is coming up.

I ask questions because I like to know everything, and then I treat myself to something from M&S and a fancy coffee.

Then I go home.

I get a hug and kiss from my boyfriend, tell him everything, text my sisters and friends who knew where I was, and watch Netflix.

Much love Txx.

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