UNTITLED.

I can't think of what to call this post.

I can't really think much at all at the moment. I got to my hospital room and unpacked my bag and sat on my bed. Then nothing.

What do I do now?

Wait.

My sister arrives. She keeps me occupied.

My sister leaves. I'm unoccupied. My thoughts wander.

How could I possibly sleep tonight, the noise of the hospital banging against my ear drums.

I sleep eventually. Then its time.

My sister arrives, to distract me.

I get up and shower.  This is the last time I will shower as a complete person. I look down at my breast, it looks so innocuous.

When I first found out that I had the cancer I didn't equate my breast with a disease, something sinister, they were just my breasts, as much a part of me as my arm or my nose, my leg or my toes.

I hadn't realised that many people's first reaction would immediately be - 'Cut it out'. This was my right breast, my good one, the nice side, why would I want to cut anything out of it.  I understand a little bit better now.

I didn't and still don't see my breast as the rogue of my body, the rebel cells, clustered together, multiplying and growing, all the time becoming threatening to other, more vital parts of my body, like my bones, my brain, my lungs, liver, heart, kidneys.

I wonder at how it can be so traitorous, to betray me like that. I don't smoke, I don't drink that often, I'm conscious and considerate of my health, I do most of the things your supposed to do and still, here I am in a gown and paper knickers, waiting.  It's like I see my body as another entity in the relationship, it let me down in a way, it got this disease, against my will.

I sit on the edge of the bed, unwilling to lie down,  I'm resistant to it as I know once I lie down its the end but annoyingly it will only be the beginning of this wholey, unwanted experience.

I'm wearing the most awful white socks/tights on my legs to keep my circulation going.  They come to wheel my bed away, I kiss my sister and smile hopefully, calling back over my shoulder as they wheel me out the door of my room - 'You're not allowed to call me Jordan after this, you know.'

The sound of her soft laughter follows me down the hallway, as we head to theatre.

I'm more terrified than I've ever been before in my whole life.