I'm beginning to
think that perhaps it is OK to look forwards again, that perhaps I can allow
myself the luxury of planning for the future. I still have a way to go - one
more round of chemotherapy, another few weeks of feeling really sick and
drained, another ride on the CT scanner - but then it's over. No more
treatment. No more hospital appointments. No more drugs. The end of so much,
but the start of so much more.
I am one of the 20%.
It's sickening to think that 80% of women with ovarian cancer don't make it.
But I have. And I will. And I am so very, very lucky. I feel that I need to do
something worthwhile. I don't want to waste the opportunity I've been given. I
want to do everything I can to stay healthy, to remain a 20 percenter (yes, I
made that word up but it does the job). I want to grab every bull I come across
by the horns (not literally). But it is so very scary. I haven't even been out
in public since September. Well, I've been to Hopscotch (my local café) but
that's different. The biggest crowd I've been in has been the Oncology waiting
room at Guy's Hospital. Can I even have a conversation that doesn't involve
cancer symptoms? What will I say? What will I wear? Will my hair ever be long
enough for me to stop looking like a convict? I feel rather scared.
But my biggest
crisis of confidence is my new story. I've researched it. I've downloaded the
trial version of Scrivener (not yet convinced but willing). I've cut out
pictures. I've made notes. Have I started writing it? No, of course not. The
characters aren't yet real, but they're forming. The place is almost there.
Actually, it really is there; it's based on Wakehurst Place. The
plot line is coming together. I even have something of a sub-plot. I think I've
rinsed away the dregs of my last novel from my mind, leaving a sparkly, shiny
space for the new one. Yet I faff, and I sigh, and I dream, and I plan. When
will I make the leap from my head to the page? Do I wait for the characters to
speak to me? I don't think I should. I think it's only by nudging them onto the
page, reluctant and shy, that they really will take shape. Where I need to step gingerly into my new world, I think they need to do the
same. My characters and me, we're not so different. We need to be brave, we
need to be confident, but, above all, we just need to make a start.
