Learning Ordinary Again

I am writing this entry from the pathology queue at Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre in Melbourne, Level 2D. I promised myself I would write about how incredible this system is one day. But this moment in time is about my new routine.

Just eighteen days ago, I spent four days in hospital.

The days after that moment blurred together in ways I did not expect. Not dramatically. Not chaotically. Just densely. Phone calls, appointments, instructions, next steps, all arriving before I had caught up with what had already happened. I was being cared for, looked after, guided, and yet I felt strangely absent from my own life, like it had started moving on without waiting for me to fully arrive.

I did not write while I was in hospital, or straight after. Today, I feel mentally positive enough to write because I am now living out the plan, or at least the first stages of the plan, put in place for me. I choose to write because it feels like the safest thing I can do right now.

I am sitting in this queue surrounded by people experiencing emotions, physical pain, and strength that feel similar to mine, but never the same. I am trying to familiarise myself with this new world. A world I hope not to spend much time in, but one I have to accept for now.

I know so much more about CML than I ever did eighteen days ago. The information available is both comforting and overwhelming. Comforting because this is not unknown. Overwhelming because digesting it is not as quick as the volume it arrives in.

One of the first lessons you learn as a cancer patient is that time is crucial. That is why they do not hesitate to tell you over the phone. That is why your admission to emergency happens within ten minutes. Every minute in treatment is a minute closer to living cancer free.

I am sitting in a place where it is okay to talk about cancer in any emotion. Anger. Curiosity. Frustration. Defeat. Happiness. Willingness. Whatever the emotion is, this system is built to guide you through it. You just have to learn how to tap into that care and direction.

I am reflecting on this because telling family, friends, and colleagues has shown me how much work we still have to do as a society when it comes to understanding cancer and our reactions to its presence. So much of the reality of living with cancer, disability, or ongoing struggle is swallowed up by the systems we move through every day. I was part of that too. I did not see it clearly until I was inside it.

That is partly why I have started writing. I want to surface what often goes unsaid. If my story changes how even one person responds the next time they encounter someone facing a life changing moment, that would feel like enough. If I can influence one person to pause, to soften, or to respond with a little more care, I would feel fulfilled. So I will keep going until I get there.

Maybe this entry is becoming my driver. Maybe it is hope. Maybe it is light. Or maybe I just need one narrative I feel fully in control of, because in honesty, I am not in control right now.

Options for the plan were presented to me, but the plan itself is not in my control. Appointments are added into my calendar with urgency and repetition. Dozens of tests follow. Decisions are made around medication options. I am constantly checking in with my body.

Imagine going from a fifty to sixty hour week in a high pressure performance environment to a rhythm of constant self monitoring, with very little to do in between. Using almost every hour of your day to work yourself out. It sounds taunting. And it is. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, you are required to check yourself. You are also required to answer questions about yourself. You become the centre of a world you do not have full authority over.

And yet, you start learning quickly.

It is remarkable how the human brain can settle into a new routine, as long as it becomes a routine. Perhaps the type of leukaemia I have allows me this space, I am yet to have that fully verified. What I do know is that I am beginning to see patterns now. Around appointments. Around the steps I need to take beforehand and during. Around how much energy each day requires.

There is a quiet comfort in that.

Not because it makes this easy. But because it makes it liveable.

And for now, that is enough.