As I sit here at 12.30am and listen to the rain, crying and blowing my nose, I wonder why this happens? Why do I go along for weeks and not give dying a second thought? Even when I write about it, it's as if I'm writing in the second person, a complete disconnect from me and the terminal cancer as if I'm writing someone else's story, I mean this couldn't possibly be me, I couldn't possibly be dying. Firstly I'm too young for this shit, secondly, I'm still yet to achieve anything real in my life and thirdly, I have still not taken my family to Broome or been to the Melbourne Cup as a guest in the Emirates tent, I mean seriously! Terminal cancer is meant to be for people who are in their 90's or smoked 2 packs a day for years, it doesn't happen to a woman who has just turned 30, drank socially, smoked a drag or two when stressed and other than mild asthma and being coeliac (under control) has been in relatively good health all her life, no, this couldn't be about me.
Thud......there it is, realty, on the 3rd of August at 12.25am, I remember it is me, I am the one dying. I am the one who has been finding the transition from being a woman who lived out of home, drove her own car and had a nice comfy job, to this, unemployed, not allowed to drive her own car and most difficult of all moving back home. It's not my parents fault, they have done everything in their power to make the transition as easy as possible and they care for me so much, yet here I am every day rolling my eyes at my mum, telling her the way she does things in "her" household isn't right, controlling who can come and who can go all depending on if they have a runny nose (I have a compromised immune system, so little colds can turn into big infections and viruses for me which can lead to death!) or of I'm in the mood mentally for it or not. I should be trying to fit in and we should all be trying to work together, a bit my way, a bit Mum's way and let's be serious with two women in the house, there's no room left for dad to have anything his way.
So tonight as I looked at myself in the mirror, about to brush my teeth (shit that reminds me I didn't get around to brushing my teeth) I saw the person in the reflection who is dying and it is me and I am making my Mum's life especially difficult, she has to deal with the fact knowing that her daughter could die at any moment, she could walk into my room tomorrow and find me lifeless or we could be watching tv tomorrow night and I have a missive tumour bleed and that's it, all over red rover. So why does my stupid mouth insist on speaking before it starts thinking? Because I have been so used to running my own race (house wise I mean, like silly things, toilet roll over or under.....over is of course the correct way, glasses and cups, rim up or rim down......up of course, for this I have no reason) the list of stupid and insignificant things I make nagging comments on is endless and meanwhile my mum is run ragged mentally trying to not only get on top of the fact that her daughter is expiring in front of her eyes but also that her daughter is just not happy with anything she does and the truth is, Mum does everything 100% right, it's just 100% right her way and that's what I have to realise too, not only did I run my own race, so did my Mum.
So I had this overwhelming need to hug my mum, I don't know if it's because I'm scared for some reason that I might not wake up tomorrow, I mean I have no more of a reason today than I did yesterday to think I'm going to die in my sleep tonight and I didn't even think about it last night, so like I said in my opening sentence to this blog, why tonight?
Other than I think I needed a good kick up the arse to realise that my Mum does nothing but try to please me from morning until night, I don't know why tonight? One thing I do know is though, it's raining and one thing I've always loved in life is lying in bed at night listening to the rain dancing on the roof.
So although I've realised again as I do every few weeks, that yes I am writing about myself, not some 95 year old smoking and drinking a glass of whiskey. I remember why I've fought so hard to keep on living, I've fought this hard because I'm not done learning, I'm not done loving and I'm not done laughing, I just hope whoever or whatever has kept me going this long, realises as well that I'm not ready to go, not just yet.
Stay fabulous rockstars ❤️🤘🏼
My name is Lisa Magill and I have been navigating the minefield that is cancer since just months after turning 30, people have been saying to me for years that I should put my thoughts into writing and as time has progressed I thought I had left it too late, well here we are nearly 4 years in and for some unknown reason I've decided to start to write today.