I am natural born worrier. I can’t help it. It’s what I do.
I worry that the cancer will come back. I worry about my mum’s forgetfulness. I worry that we won’t be able to have more children and that Jake will never have a brother or sister.
It would have been so easy for me to give up fighting when I was ill. To say “Enough, I can’t do this anymore”, but I couldn’t. I had to fight, I had to stay around for my little boy. I did. I fought, and I won round one. I fought and I won round two.
It wasn’t easy. It was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. In fact, I would rather give birth again (with just gas and air I might add!) than have another bone marrow biopsy.
Today, marks the one year anniversary of me finishing chemotherapy. It doesn’t feel like it. It seems to have gone so quickly. Neil came with me that day. I’d made cupcakes for the nurses. I left, and it felt like an anticlimax. I don’t know what I expected, but it just felt weird.
Now, I hope. It’s all I can do. I hope that the cancer doesn’t come back. I hope my mum’s forgetfulness is just her being scatty. I hope that soon, we can give Jake a brother or sister (preferably sister if that’s doable at all).
So whilst I worry, I also hope, and I don’t think that’s a bad place to be.
When the world says, “Give up,”
Hope whispers, “Try it one more time.”