Time for a grumble

I think I've been a pretty good sport about this cancer gig....... so I think I'm entitled to a bit of a grumble . If I had to put myself into a category, I'd say I'm one of those people who takes pretty good care of themselves. I'm not overly obsessed with my health, just mindful of what needs to be done to keep well.

Growing up in post WWII London, we children were all trotted down to the community clinic for weekly doses of cod liver oil, concentrated O.J. and, to our total mortification, ten minutes standing in our undies under ultraviolet lights, wearing goggles sealed to our eyes with Vaseline. You spent the rest of the day squinting through smeary eyeballs. I suppose this was all good stuff as none of us developed Ricketts, but we dreaded it. And then of course we walked everywhere. Everyone walked. There was a bus, but if you didn't ride the bus, then you'd have sixpence to buy a little bag of pear drops from the sweet shop! A mile to the train, a mile and a half at the other end to school. Lots of unplanned exercise.

My mother, being from Italy, where even during the war there was no shortage of decent food, had a tough time coming to grips with the English diet. She became an expert at ferreting out food she recognized. Olive oil, in tiny bottles, came from the chemist shop. Spaghetti came in two foot lengths wrapped in blue greaseproof paper. If she found it, she'd stock up. When my grandparents visited from Venice, after 26 hours on a train, it was like birthdays, Christmas and Easter rolled into one. Their cases were jammed with salami, prosciutto, olives, grissini, wine vinegar, fragrant cheese - even the stale bread tasted fantastic. We feasted!

My dad had a big vegetable garden, so that's where my brothers and I spent our weekends. We were expected to plant, weed, and harvest our crops. We had apple and plum trees, gooseberry bushes, and vast quantities of greens. My grandmother canned the apples and made pies. We made jam with the strawberries. I was the envy of the school lunch crowd with my salads and roast chicken, while the other girls filled up on fried Spam, gelatinous stews and lumpy custards. Ugh.

So healthy eating and regular exercise have always been part of my lifestyle. Regular medical and dental tune-ups were added in as I got older. I really took very, very good care of myself. Which leads me to last February and my annual date for the mammogram.

The day I walked into the Breast Center I was just about as fit as I could be. Great diet, heavy on vegetables, grass-fed beef, lots of fish, whole grains and plenty of fruit. Tons of exercise...... if you've ever trying rowing you'll know exactly what I mean. Yes, I had a little stress on the side, but the exercise helped neutralize that. So healthwise, I was pretty much a straight A.

Then suddenly, despite my high health grades, they told me I had a serious illness. How could this possibly be? I didn't feel ill at all. It was really difficult. I've always been pretty good at listening to my body for clues. If I'm tired, I slow down. If I crave red meat, I must need iron. If I'm feeling antsy, I need to work out. My body hadn't sent out any signals about this cancer thing. Not that I could remember, anyway. I'd certainly lost a few pounds the previous year, but that seemed to be exercise related. Or maybe not. Interesting thought.....I'll have to ponder that one.

So now that I'm under treatment to make the cancer go away, I've gone from being a perfectly fit and healthy person, to a shadow of myself, feeling pretty ghastly most of the time. The chemo really knocks you down. The best way to describe it is...... you feel pregnant. Vaguely nauseous, very tired, certain smells bother you and your taste buds are screwed up.

It's ironic. Take a fit and healthy person and make them feel awful. Then they'll get better. Quite frankly, this sounds like a bunch of codswallop to me, but, hey, I'm giving it a shot!