With the Russian madman causing mayhem in the world, I am really trying to maintain a positive outlook.
The war news is dominating and it’s difficult to avoid. But am very aware of how my mental health can affect my physical health, so I am attempting (and so far succeeding) to limit my news watching/viewing. I look at just enough to get a very superficial overview but even that is more than I want. I feel so sad for all the people affected by this megalomaniac!
Time flies by, even the chemo treatments. Yesterday was #5 of the planned 6. The results of my blood tests continue to be good. The cancer marker went from 301 to 187 this week. But not low enough to move on to the next stage. Dr. McCleave said they want to see it at around 30 which is quite a long way yet.
When I came back to South Africa in 2019, I naturally gravitated to where I was born and grew up. And actually ended up in the what we used to call the village of Kloof. (It’s no longer a village!) Kloof is about 18 miles/29km from Durban and just on 1600ft/500km above sea level, giving the area a more moderate climate than Durban, usually being a good 10F less which was the case when I took Rodney to the park this afternoon. Plus less humid.
The fourth treatment went as planned. Mick came with me so he was able to meet my doctor. It’s always good to have another set of ears in a consultation but this one was very straightforward because everything is going so well.
November 16 last year is the fateful day I got the definitive news that changed my life.
By then I ‘d been in hospital for 8 days going through tests and everything else that goes along with a cancer diagnosis. I’d just had laparoscopic surgery for a biopsy and the GYN/surgeon came to visit me after I had very gently been given the diagnosis. He’s a lovely man and from reading his bio, a pretty religious one as well. He said to me as he sat at my bedside, “Have you considered end of life?”
I have felt helpless this last week, watching the mayhem and seeing South Africa implode. The destruction is so hard to see unfolding and fearing for my friends and family. And feeling so guilty not being there to help the communities and specifically, the little community where I was living. It’s such a helpless feeling, seeing the disaster unfold and being powerless to do anything.
I sat here on the diametrically opposite side of the world on Wednesday, 6 January 2021 and was appalled at the events live streaming into my granny flat in South Africa. In real time, I watched as rioters and what people are calling domestic terrorists heeded the call of the person still in the White House. It’s the place I called home for almost 50 years, where my boys and grandkids are. Where my friends from those years are. A place always considered safe and until 4 years ago, sane.
