Touch of Cancer, Jean Charity [most inspirational books txt] 📗

saw his spirit, or whatever one likes to call it, leave his body, I have been convinced that our frame is only a shell we inhabit for a very short space of time. I believe our ‘souls’ live on at a higher level; and consequently I regard ‘dying’ not as the end of everything, but as ‘going home’. All the way through those first nine months of treatment I never once felt any fear. Many other things, yes, but fear – no. And it was this absence of fear which amazed and astounded me throughout that time.
I don’t remember too much about those first months – it all seemed to pass in a bit of a haze, and at times I would sleep for up to 15 hours at a stretch. Suffice it to say I don’t think it would have been included on my ‘favourite things to do this year’ list, but I do remember well the overall feeling of pure serenity and calmness which would envelop
me at times. And I never felt alone. Lonely, yes, without that ‘special someone’ at my side, but never ever did I feel alone. I knew I was not alone. I knew Spirit had drawn close to me and I could feel their presence around me all the while, guiding, comforting – and this was an incredible feeling. Sometimes when I would sit at my window looking out at the palm trees and blue sea beyond, enjoying a cup of tea or coffee, I would feel completely content; and sometimes as I lay in bed at night in that cosy relaxed state just before sleep I would see in my mind, hands reaching down to me. Slim, long-fingered hands like my mother’s and I knew they were bringing me healing. Other times, if I opened my eyes for a moment I would see the most wonderful glow of golden light filling the bedroom. These were wonderful experiences.
No doubt many people would say it was because of the drugs, and that I was hallucinating. And maybe they would be right. But that’s irrelevant. Whether right or wrong, the important thing is that it gave me comfort; peace of mind; and strength. Whatever it was, it worked for me and helped me through some bad times. To feel so strongly the closeness of Spirit, whether imagination or otherwise, has been the most uplifting and enlightening occurrence of my life, and one I feel privileged to have experienced.
I could fill a book writing about the extraordinary events and experiences which have slowly changed me from a sceptical disbeliever, but this isn’t the right occasion for that. My faith in Spirit has slowly unfolded, unbidden, over many years; the validation of their presence coming via instances too numerous to mention. They have ‘shown’ me in so many ways. I am now totally unable to deny them.
They are there for me.
Their continued presence is something I treasure and upon which I know I can rely. They come to bring comfort and guidance, and the more I acknowledge them the stronger they come. Looking back, they have always been there for me, although it took me a long while to realise it. During my illness I became even more highly tuned-in
– opening out to them completely and unreservedly; my trust in them unquestionable. They led me through, lighting my dark days as they have done so many times before, and I know they will continue to do this.
They can’t stop bad things happening to me, but they will always be there to direct me and be my strength throughout whatever may befall. My faith in Spirit is now total – and completely unshakeable.
‘Hand-in-hand with Angels through the world we go.’ I love that phrase. It often comes into my mind when I’m feeling at peace with myself.
I do feel very strongly that if I am to stay down here, then it is for a purpose. There will be a ‘job’ for me to do. There will be a debt to repay – to God, Spirit and Society, and if that time ever comes then I shall meet it with joy, humility and gratitude.
After all, it’s the very least I can do in return for all I have received.

A few, so very few, escape it: the agony and pain
and hurt, that mingles in the heart and swirls around the brain;
that tunnel full of darkness into which one doth descend
that stretches to eternity and never seems to end.

One wanders down it aimlessly, towards some dark unknown
not caring and not feeling, and so utterly alone.
Into that blackness – so forbidding – one goes without a care
and deeper one gets dragged to depths of darkness and despair.

There is no light to walk towards, no ray of hope, no guide,
no spirit left, no fight within, no heart, no soul, inside.
A feeling so immeasurable within its isolation.
just bleakness left, and misery, and total desolation.

I’ve felt its walls press in on me; I’ve felt that dark despair;
I’ve called for help but no one’s heard – there has been no one there.

But now at last, at long, long last, I see a shaft of light
just filtering through. A tiny gleam. It’s small and none too bright
but it is there. A new beginning. Just a little spark.

I know now someone heard my cries
and helped me through the dark.’
J.C. 1979

The above was written following, what for me, was the darkest time of my life. I often go through the words when I am feeling very low, and they comfort me. I hope they may bring a modicum of comfort to some of you out there.


9


MOOD SWINGS AND CONFIDENCE





I have always had my fair share of faults and foibles (possibly more than my fair share) but with the progression of the drugs I developed even more.
Despite being brought up on the ‘stiff-upper-lip’ principle, I now CRY very easily when alone and any emotive issue (especially seeing the children in the cancer appeal adverts) can have me snivelling into my hankie for the rest of the day. And when those ordinary everyday problems occur (i.e. my loo packing up; my washing machine regurgitating orange-coloured knickers in place of the lovely whites I put in, due to the rusty piping; and the TV turning into a jigsaw in the middle of my favourite programme, due to satellite malfunctioning), I can get really upset. It then only takes one more thing, e.g. spilling the salt, and I’m in floods of tears.
My Moods swing very much to extremes and a prime example of this was the day I was told I was in remission. My initial reaction that day, of course, was one of relief and delight, and as I walked home silently shedding tears of joy and giving out my thanks, my mood suddenly switched from one of thankful elation to one of guilt and depression. I can’t remember the exact date; but it was a few days after September 11th 2001. I had been spared for the time being, but all those young people doing important jobs and contributing to society had had their lives cut off in their prime and it suddenly seemed so wrong that I should have cause to celebrate at my age when so many were mourning. I arrived home that day not in the cloud of euphoria one would expect, but with very mixed emotions. It was totally confusing. I didn’t know how I felt any more. Pleased, of course; grateful, yes; humble, certainly; but also sad for all the gut-wrenching heartaches in the world . . . and sorry for myself because the one person with whom I really wanted to share my news was not around to hear it. It took me a few days to come to terms with my feelings and finally crack open that long-awaited bottle of champers to share with my two closest friends; but when I did, it tasted all the better for the waiting.
As I’ve pumped more and more chemicals into my system an irrational IRRITABILITY has developed. So many conflicting emotions pop-up and engulf me at the oddest times. Strangers walking too close to me invading what I feel is my ‘space’ can annoy me beyond words.
It is the same with shoppers standing too close to me at the check-out queue almost brushing my arm as I reach out to receive my change; and with people on elevators who insist on standing on the step immediately behind me causing me to clutch my purse or handbag to me with fierce grip. I begin to feel ‘smothered’ and have a very strong urge to push them all out of the way. Maybe this is attributable to the time my immunity was virtually extinct and had to isolate myself for a couple of months to regenerate cells before recommencing treatment. I don’t know, but it is still with me and is not a very pleasant trait.
Unfortunately I can’t use that excuse about the lady at the laundry who washes and irons my bedding for me. She launders my sheets beautifully but she has a real staple-fetish and despite repeated requests to the contrary she continues to staple little yellow strips to silk, satin and lace alike with gay abandon, giving rise to regular bouts of unladylike cursing on my part as I try to forage them out with finger-nails or scissors whilst trying not to tear the fabrics. This really winds me up, and when – on more than one occasion – I have jumped out of bed in the middle of the night and lodged one of these undetected lethal objects deep into my foot, I really get cross. I am convinced one day I shall find one piercing my eye from a pillow case I’ve missed . . . but I continue to use her as I continue to curse her. I have tried other laundries but none with her immaculate results.
NOISE also bothers me now. The ring-tones of mobiles going off in restaurants when I am trying to enjoy a quiet meal with friends not only makes me jump (nerves) but drives me mad. I find it so rude and intrusive – but in fairness I have to admit this is far more likely to be due to the onset of old(er)-age than any medication!
My lack of control over my emotions does disturb me and I can only console myself with the thought that if I ever get all the drugs out of my system then my personality disorders will rectify themselves and revert to normal. Age notwithstanding.
DEPRESSION can hit completely out-of-the-blue for no valid reason; but when it does it never lasts long as I soon seem to be ‘guided’ out of it. The sight of a Downs-syndrome child; a person in a wheelchair with only half a body; or a guide-dog leading its owner across the road appears with perfect timing to give me the jolt I need to get myself back on track and really count my blessings – of which I realised at an early stage, I have very, very many.
CONFIDENCE continues to be at a very low ebb. I feel I have totally lost all skills I once had, and the thought of even holding a dinner party; driving a car; or getting on horseback, now fills me with trepidation: an element of fear