Lately: June

longest days and sabbatical times

It has been a hot minute. 44640 minutes to be precise. And it is high time I landed here - to the place I created to Write It Out. This will be a postcard of the highlights, the lowlights, all the lights.

I’ve been in an odd stasis of four weeks, waiting to see what my fate looked like in terms of treatment for my early breast cancer. Long story short (maybe I’ll write about it separately, it’s a STORY) - I won’t be having chemotherapy. I will be having radiotherapy and that begins in July. So, without further ado - the ‘lights, in no particular order…

• Scattering my Dad’s ashes in Corfu

• Ash on my black dress

• Grilled cheese with almonds in my favourite Corfu restaurant

• Standing in the Christie’s Cancer Hospital and really realising it was me with the cancer

• In spite of not working or feeling like I have anything of use to offer, my Instagram community are solidly behind me on this infertility epilogue. My DMs and engagement are like a crowd cheering my on in my gladiator ring

• Excellent consultants

• An underlying sense of peace and acceptance that this is the way it is and that’s OK

• Splits in time where I lose all sense of peace

• Standing upside down, new passion piece (come see on Instagram @feettotheclounds

• Everlasting grey skies (and when the blue comes it really does feel sweet)

• Care packages in the post that keep on coming

• Same wavelengths

• Polishing off psychotherapy assignments in the nick of time

• Sea salty days and hair

• Running for me, for the trying to conceive community, for all of it

• Voicenotes like messages in a bottle

• New Raybans

• Old habits

I have a plan now.

The last few months have been a total re-initiation into nailbiting, cliffhanging waiting - like a blast from the infertility past. But right now, I’m no longer freefalling. I have things to write to you, to build into the library of practices and things to say.

In every waiting room I sit in, every scan tube I am slided into, every injection I am no stranger to; there is my infertility, directly beneath it. Some days this pisses me off, like COME ON I am DONE. But mostly it feels like it was all training ground for this. I am still smiling. I am still positive (except when someone tells me I need to be) and I am still, me.

I have been re-reading Maggie O’Farrell I am I am I am, Seventeen Brushes with Death, felt right for the season. I thought I would include this here;

We are, all of us, wandering about in a state of oblivion, borrowing our time, seizing our days, escaping our fates, slipping through loopholes, unaware of when the axe may fall.

I think life will feel like this now evermore, post 2024. I think this is a good thing.

Antidote things I have brewing..

It’s a bit like dreamcatching, the things that I think of and the things that become a piece of writing. But in the ether are;

The Venn diagram of infertility and Other Medical Arenas

What I know about waiting now that I wish I’d known then

Why I can’t reply to your text messages right now

Health Anxiety unpacked

Infertility within the tree rings of our biography

Flashbulb memories of the trying days

That’s all for now. Let me know which of the above calls you in the most.

H