Thinking Out Aloud ...

I pulled the official letter from our post office box early one morning a few weeks ago. It was solely addressed to me.

I was a little shocked upon opening and reading the concerning news, yet subconsciously I'd been awaiting the inevitable day my body would begin to protest.

It can't continue to work its magic forever!

I drove sombrely home contemplating and digesting the news that could possibly be the start of a journey I'd ironically already walked with my beautiful sister in law, Jude.

Each day something jumps out and surprises me from left field, and this particular day, unfortunately, happened to be all about me.

I couldn't bring myself to share the contents of my letter for a week, not even with my husband. I needed to get my own head around the direct message first.

I've been extremely lucky throughout my fifty-four years of life. I've never experienced a broken bone or major illness. All previous, mandatory health tests I've undertaken, I've passed with flying colors. The only physical intrusions I've ever encountered were annual needle pricks in my arm to check my blood was behaving as it should.

Piece of piss!

This was my attitude upon taking the biennial fecal occult blood test not long ago. Everything was fine as far as I was concerned. I hadn't experienced any issues relating to my digestive tract and I honestly didn't think twice about the results, expecting them to be negative as per usual.

However, this time they returned positive ...

I followed up with my doctor almost immediately, who referred me on to have a colonoscopy as soon as possible. I'm now anticipating the dreaded day in around three weeks.

The waiting game is not much fun and my thoughts, although realistic, are bouncing around from one end of my brain to the other, conjuring up all sorts of very real, ugly scenarios.

I realise there are many possible reasons as to why microscopic blood was found in my stool. I guess, I'm wrapping my head around the worst case scenario, which could prove to be a colon cancer diagnosis.

Hey, if I expect the worst, I might be pleasantly surprised and relieved!

So how do I feel about the C word? I fucking hate it, that's how!

My father was diagnosed with small cell cancer many years ago and struggled through numerous complications for eight torturous months, until we laid him to rest.

Many friends have also trudged their way through this despicable disease, but none more so than my sister in law, who fought for six years with every ounce of strength and determination she could muster, until she took her final breath late last November.

I accompanied Jude through the many, tiresome chemo sessions over the years. I nursed her when her body failed and as I held her hand, watched her fade away right before my eyes. It was gut wrenching and never had I felt so utterly powerless.

As Jude slipped away, I felt quiet relief for her while facing my own heartbreak and loss. She didn't deserve any of it and departed this world much too soon, leaving behind a husband and two, young, adult sons, one of whom is autistic.

Jude was only fifty- three years old. She and I were the same age.

Jude lead an extremely clean lifestyle. She was into all sorts of healthy food alternatives and natural therapies, committed to gifting herself wholistic health and well-being to be an ongoing pillar of strength to her family.

Still she suffered cancer.

I knew of many seemingly vibrant, fit, healthy folk, who succumbed to disease, shocking their loved ones. Some passed suddenly without a hint of warning while jogging or running a marathon. One simply took a shower. Or what about babies and children who suffer through illnesses and consequently die. Where's the logic in that?!

Others like me, who could do a whole lot better addressing their health, soldier on, relishing in all life has to offer.

For these reasons I truly believe, regardless of how we endeavour to live our lives, when our time here in earth school is up, we are called home.

With this in mind, I decided long ago to enjoy life to the best of my ability, even the detrimental habits I pursue, preferring quality over quantity. Right or wrong, this is my attitude and so far it's served me well. Definitely on an emotional level and up until now, my physicality too has withstood the constant abuse, rising and attending the party time and time again.

However, I have always quietly anticipated the day my physical self claims defeat, unable to repeatedly heal.

I've disrespected my body in many ways, commencing as a young, primary school aged child. The roller coaster of binge eating and starving myself for two decades surely placed tremendous strain on my entire being, especially my faithful heart.

I would have been the perfect bulimia candidate, but failed miserably trying to uphold a vomiting habit. It just didn't sit well with me sticking my finger down my throat - thankfully! Throw into the equation other addictive habits for nearly forty years and I'd say I'm a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

I'm nauseous seeing these words written in black and white. Oh how they bring it home! How dare I treat myself this way. Don't I hold any regard for myself?!

Mind you, I've always been extremely active, participating in many sporting activities over the years. Farm life too changed my lifestyle dramatically for the better. I learned to eat regularly and to finally satisfy my hunger, which is something I hadn't deciphered in years.

Funny how no one ever picked up on my problematic relationship with food. Neither family members, nor flatmates or even partners noticed. I must have hidden it well.

I once attempted to disclose my guarded secret to a dear friend. The words excruciatingly scraped over my tongue like sand paper. The overwhelming shame I felt was indescribable, but I managed to bare my all. The reaction I received was laughter! My friend thought I was joking and couldn't for the life of her take me seriously, immediately changing the subject.

I tried ...

Back to the C word. We all know cancer doesn't discriminate. There's no rhyme or reason as to why or whom it clings onto for dear life like barnacles to a boat hull. Some people survive, some remain in remission for a long while, some pass after short periods. Even animals succumb to this shitful disease.

I remember when my beautiful horse, Baldy, was diagnosed with cancer around his eye area. The vet surgically removed his inner eyelid believing the tumor had successfully vanished... and it seemed it had until Baldy's eye started newly weeping a year later.

I called the vet again and gently dabbed Baldy's inflamed, sore eye. Suddenly a drop of the cancerous fluid flicked into my own eye. I wondered then if this would somehow have a detrimental impact on my body.

This also reminds me of the many times I accompanied Jude to Peter MacCallum hospital for chemo sessions. I tend to drink a lot of water and regularly visited the chemo ward toilets, as typically chemo administration lasted for hours. One fine day a nurse on shift insisted I not use the patient toilets, as they're toxic.

Bit late for that!

Again I wondered if this would somehow affect me.

I've always believed, and continue to do so, when we 'go home', we are reunited with loved ones who passed before us. This thought comforts, and even excites me a touch. I've lost so many adoring friends, family and pets I still endlessly miss.

I certainly don't carry a death wish, but I'm at peace with the concept of passing over, especially falling into the embraces of souls I long to meet again, starting with Glen, who I'm sure will be my first contact behind the veil. I abruptly lost him twenty years ago and to this day our unique, loving connection feels stronger than it's ever been.

... and honestly, I'm bloody sick of the worry I carry for significant others here on earth. I realise it's self inflicted, as I have the power to control my own thoughts, but I just can't shake them off! All I desire is a simple, peaceful and content life. That's all I long for. So I've always imagined, when my time is up, I will passively react with acceptance. No qualms about it.

However, now that I possibly may be on death row (just saying), I've realised something that's never occurred to me!

What about all the people and animals here on earth I presently love and will leave behind? I will feel the same grief leaving them!

Seems I can't win ... and more to wrestle with inside my head.

At the end of the day, I need to wait for my colonoscopy results.

If I really do have fucking cancer, I'm not keen on going down the chemo road, having witnessed first hand the wholistically devastating, disempowering process. I'd prefer to have someone else access my lot. Someone who will appreciate their lengthened life. Someone with young children.

If it turns out I am cancer free, will I take it as a warning and change my ways? Surely yes!

I'd need my head read if I didn't, however, I dare say the damage I've already accomplished is irreversible. How could it not be after all these years?

My gut feeling isn't leaning towards cancer, but something is obviously not right. I guess only time will tell.

Waiting, waiting, impatiently waiting ...