One year

Today marks one year since I was diagnosed.  One long, testing, amazing, roller-coaster, reflective, challenging, herculean, interminable, silver-lined year.

On 9 May last year, my mother had spent the night with my grandfather, my last surviving grandparent, as he died.  I saw my dentist at 8.30am and, within an hour, knew something was wrong.  Very much wrong.  At 2.30 that afternoon, Darren and I went over to see Dr S, my first maxillofacial surgeon.  It would be another month until we knew the tumour was worse than the worst case scenario he outlined that day.

I haven’t been here on the blog much recently.  In part, that’s because I’ve been busy between three different jobs as I wend my way back into the workforce.  And in part, that’s because I started seeing a psychologist.

February and March were tough.   Re-entering the ‘real world’ from the cocoon of ‘being sick’ was hard.  Recovery had allowed me so much time to contemplate and take my time.  I could pace myself, nurture myself, and protect myself.

The real world wasn’t so kind.  Where once my crutches, my wired jaw and my swelling were there for all to see, my situation stopped being front-of-mind.  There’s still internal scarring of course, but only the more perceptive see or remember that.  I found myself struggling in conversations that were about the trivial or that trivialised the traumatic.  Compounded by the pressure of work, I wasn’t coping.

It’s not that returning to the real world was a bad thing.  It just required adjustment.  I decided I need help.  My GP referred me to a truly lovely psychologist, Dr M, who happens to practise in my street.  I saw Dr M for my sixth and final appointment today. Talking with her has meant I haven’t needed to write here as much.

So I am still around.  I’m just doing well now.  Really well.  We are both excited to be changing jobs this month, I’m enjoying my Tuesdays with Alannah, and we’re making plans.  I’m carving out time to read again.  I’ve also taken up running again, in the early morning before Alannah gets up.  It’s good for the soul (and the body) and a way to start the day that’s all about me.  We are finding a lovely balance in our life.

It’s been one long year.  But remarkable, so very remarkable.



  1. You’re an inspiration 🙂

  2. Hurrah for you. You know how to take care of yourself, and it’s been a long road. Despite all the pain, anxiety, and fear, you survived a long year. Proud of you. My thoughts are with you, wishing you well in this next phase of healing.

  3. Danielle says:

    YOU are remarkable!!! And I agree with Tim too, truly an inspiration!

  4. Running in the morning. Of course you are!

    It has been my pleasure to witness you re-entering ‘the real world’. There’s so much fun to be had in it, as we’ve proven. Welcome back, with bells on.

    But anyone who knows you will never forget where you’ve come from. Remarkable isn’t even the half of it. My hat goes off to you and the person you’ve become.

  5. Marieke says:

    Glad you are doing well. I had been thinking about you last week and had planned to email you to see how things were going. Needless to say I utterly failed at getting myself organised enough to do that! Duh. Life has changed forever and yet some things have stayed the same. Marrying these two things up is a hard thing to do. I am glad you seem to have managed it. X

  6. Thank you for the lovely comments. Truly, I’m just happy that I can keep on keeping on.

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