Page 114 - She's One Crazy Lady!

Mr Stewart said how sorry he was, and he and Margaret left, leaving me with a calling card and a date for the operation. August 3rd – Ashton Ward, KGH – to go in on August 2nd.
I could go with that. If all went to plan (for I had no idea, whatsoever, what all this entailed) I would be OK to go back to Highfield’s Primary School as normal in September.
My senior colleague took me to her house. We travelled in silence. I could see by her eyes that she was very upset. I didn’t cry. I was trying to work out in my mind what it was I had to do next for I could see a new chapter of my life emerging, for which I needed to be organised. Who do I tell first? What do I say? How life can change in a few seconds!
“It was a good life, and wholly taken for granted. However, one day all this changed. One day I was flying and the next I was not. What I had known was no longer there and what was before me seemed entirely unknown.”
An extract from a beautiful book called ‘The Little Tern’ – a story of insight” written by Brooke Newman and introduced to me by Michele Petrone. A story, almost a parable, of a bird who one day discovers he has lost the ability to fly. Life becomes meaningless, and deserted by his airborne friends, he is left alone on the shore. But then new friends arrive, and they bring with them a fresh view on life and the Little Tern soon realises that life is much richer than he had previously known and discovers that real strength comes from a seeming weakness – finding hope in frustrating or disappointing circumstances. With help and support he finds his wings again. It really is a beautiful story.
I needed and preferred to be alone. I had calls to make.
Oh, how I wished I could have gone home to my darling Tigger – for his welcome at the door and the comfort of his soft fur next to me for a much-needed reassuring cuddle... his strength, his love, his ‘being there’...
After trying to ply me with her finest red wine (and failing, for I don’t drink alcohol) I was taken home and so began the first of many phone calls to people who I knew were anxiously waiting for news; the people and friends that I had confided in. Not family. Not yet. Just brief phone calls to confirm that, yes, it was true – I had breast cancer.
Friday June 29th:
Diary: “To the outside world, today was just another day. I hadn’t slept much. My eyes were sore from lack of sleep; my head ached, but I hadn’t cried. It was only 6.00am but the warm sun was already pouring through the window. Standing there in my pyjamas, everything was so quiet. Was yesterday a dream? I was so used to coping with the unexpected, of sorts. I was trained to do that. But this was a different scenario. I was at the centre of this one. Please let there be no fuss. I watched neighbours going out to their cars, setting off for another day at work, no doubt relieved that today was Friday, the weekend ahead of
“It was a
good life, and wholly taken for granted. However, one day all this changed. One day I was flying and the next I was not.
”
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