2023 I had the worst year of my life.
It marched to the beat of get-up, work, cook, sleep. Day in, day out. Rinse and repeat.
I was so tired. My lower back ached. My digestive system went from bullet-proof to... well, crap. And did I mention how tired I was? Every single effort of a day.
I had no energy for knitting, for reading, for gaming, for learning. For acquiring new hens. For getting the beehive bought and built--and a colony settled in. A waste of a year.
I blamed all this on the ketfuffle of moving the Aged P down to live next door to us--and on supporting them when they broke their leg. I blamed it on stress at work, growing the team, getting a new boss, taking on more tasks, reorganisation. I blamed it on aging. I blamed it on the world not having reconfigured itself to accommodate COVID-19 and bird 'flu.
I felt hopelessly miserable.
2024 I got the explanation and the treatment.
The process hasn't gone entirely smoothly. The stoma, the lymph node not removed, needing a blood transfusion: I could have done without those as part of the surgery. The constipation, the loss of my eyelashes and eyebrows, the pervasive taste of burnt tree trunk, the occasionally nosebleed: could have done without all those side effects. I would have loved not to have missed Eastercon, worldcon, A New Day.
The prognosis wasn't great to start with, but the surgery did remove most of the nastiness, and the adjuvent chemotherapy did the rest. A sequence of fortuitous dominoes fell in the right configuration to make maintenance treatment a good option. The end hasn't closed in as much as it might. So here i am, getting used to a new normal, which includes daily tablets, infusions every three weeks, and a chance to reconfigure myself to accommodate this regimen.
Along the way, I've read, knitted, and embroidered my way through treatment sessions. I've learned (and failed to remember) the names of numerous drugs some of which may be repurposed as character names in TTRPGs. I've found the back way into the day treatment ward and learned the route from the rear of Addenbrookes to the secret oasis of
Nine Wells. I've got OK at injecting myself with drugs and dealing with the self-care of an ostomy. Above all, although it was my body's cells that failed me, I've learned to feel confident in this bag of meat that, in the face of failure, reconfigures, heals, bounces back.
I've felt, mostly, grounded, contented. Happy, even.
2025 I can begin to plan again. I start organising going back to work. I attempt to get to Eastercon. There will be more knitting and weaving, reading, gaming. I will pick out new hens.
There may be bees.
Happy New Year!
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