As strong as we think we are...
It's been an odd week. And it's still only Wednesday. On Saturday, I just could not find any mojo. Sydney got a short walk. Some of the house got cleaned, but not much. I was in a foul mood and it was all I could do not to take myself back to bed and stare into space. As usual, I had a list of things I wanted to get done in my head, but couldn't focus on them. The weather was cold and drizzly, which didn't help. I annoyed myself with my lack of productivity. I know many might tell me to let myself have a day off and not feel bad about it, but it wasn't as if I could even focus on anything fun. I didn't want to knit, crochet, read or watch a good film. I just didn't want to be conscious.
I made a conscious effort to get some things done on Sunday, and it worked. Sydney got a longer walk (in the snow), the weekly shop was done, and I got the lesson prep (urgent!) done. I felt much better for all of that. I felt it was just one off day, and I was back being positive after that.
Monday was a fairly good day. I was teaching in the morning ("How to get started with critical writing" for a group of architecture students - they were really engaged, which made for a good session), and in the afternoon, met with a career coach for a discussion about my recent 360 degree review about my leadership skills. The coach said she'd rarely seen such a positive report, and I have to say, the comments and scores were all very good. I need to send a thank you to the colleagues who contributed, and I do hope they weren't holding back! We still managed to find some areas for my development - more delegation, more self belief. A few other things, but mostly they go back to the above.
Because the coach needed to talk about my development plan 'over the next 3 months', I mentioned that I might be otherwise distracted. Her reaction made me chuckle. Her advice was good diet, hand sanitiser and being kind to yourself. She also said the classic "but you look so well!". Well, that will be because I am well, and the treatment hasn't started yet. It's the chemo that makes you sick, and cures you at the same time. I forget how many people don't realise that. It's at least true for primary breast cancer.
Tuesday brought a new hair style. In preparation for wig-wearing, I've had it cut shorter. The traffic getting out of Bristol and into Gloucester was dreadful, so I was half an hour late. My hairdresser, a wonderful lady who recently celebrated having her own salon open for its first year, and who I've been with ever since I moved to the West Country, changed her plans for the evening so she could fit me in, and then refused to let me pay. I was all set to just have a chat and come back another time, but she was adamant that she would give me my restyle. Thank you Belle. You made me cry with your kindness.
And that was the start of me realising how close to the edge I am. I cry at the slightest thing right now.
Today was a tough day too. I had teaching this morning, for a group that I knew would be difficult because the particular module my teaching is part of isn't going well. Not my fault, but the usual leader of the module is signed off on long term sick and those who took over made an almighty mess of the first semester. When I went to take one of my first sessions with them last November, I was met with some very angry, disillusioned students. That class was hard work. Today's sessions were their first scheduled classes of the new semester, and out of 120 students on the module, 52 turned up. 36 in my colleague's class, and 16 for mine. Those that came were still angry. And I lost my temper and my cool with one of them. I won't go into detail, and it probably isn't as bad as you might be imagining, but I was unprofessional and it shocked the student. I apologised immediately (even though, actually, the student deserved it), and held it together after she left the class so that I could carry on and teach the rest. But the minute I got back to my desk, I was sobbing. I was so angry with myself, so upset that I hadn't handled things differently. My boss was in my office at the time, and she was wonderfully supportive. My various colleagues gave me a hug, told me it was OK. I know I'm my own worst critic, hold myself to high standards, but still. I think I've forgiven myself now, but I'm trying to reflect and think that having the shadow of chemotherapy looming on the horizon means I am anxious, sharp, not as calm or controlled as usual. It is affecting my work and I need to take a conscious step back before responding. I'll try.
I phoned Dr Howe's secretary on Monday, and was told a letter detailing my chemo schedule would be in the post that afternoon, and that it would be starting on 2nd Feb. The letter hasn't arrived yet, and I just want to know.
The waiting is the hardest part.
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| Spot the snow dog |
Monday was a fairly good day. I was teaching in the morning ("How to get started with critical writing" for a group of architecture students - they were really engaged, which made for a good session), and in the afternoon, met with a career coach for a discussion about my recent 360 degree review about my leadership skills. The coach said she'd rarely seen such a positive report, and I have to say, the comments and scores were all very good. I need to send a thank you to the colleagues who contributed, and I do hope they weren't holding back! We still managed to find some areas for my development - more delegation, more self belief. A few other things, but mostly they go back to the above.
Because the coach needed to talk about my development plan 'over the next 3 months', I mentioned that I might be otherwise distracted. Her reaction made me chuckle. Her advice was good diet, hand sanitiser and being kind to yourself. She also said the classic "but you look so well!". Well, that will be because I am well, and the treatment hasn't started yet. It's the chemo that makes you sick, and cures you at the same time. I forget how many people don't realise that. It's at least true for primary breast cancer.
Tuesday brought a new hair style. In preparation for wig-wearing, I've had it cut shorter. The traffic getting out of Bristol and into Gloucester was dreadful, so I was half an hour late. My hairdresser, a wonderful lady who recently celebrated having her own salon open for its first year, and who I've been with ever since I moved to the West Country, changed her plans for the evening so she could fit me in, and then refused to let me pay. I was all set to just have a chat and come back another time, but she was adamant that she would give me my restyle. Thank you Belle. You made me cry with your kindness. And that was the start of me realising how close to the edge I am. I cry at the slightest thing right now.
Today was a tough day too. I had teaching this morning, for a group that I knew would be difficult because the particular module my teaching is part of isn't going well. Not my fault, but the usual leader of the module is signed off on long term sick and those who took over made an almighty mess of the first semester. When I went to take one of my first sessions with them last November, I was met with some very angry, disillusioned students. That class was hard work. Today's sessions were their first scheduled classes of the new semester, and out of 120 students on the module, 52 turned up. 36 in my colleague's class, and 16 for mine. Those that came were still angry. And I lost my temper and my cool with one of them. I won't go into detail, and it probably isn't as bad as you might be imagining, but I was unprofessional and it shocked the student. I apologised immediately (even though, actually, the student deserved it), and held it together after she left the class so that I could carry on and teach the rest. But the minute I got back to my desk, I was sobbing. I was so angry with myself, so upset that I hadn't handled things differently. My boss was in my office at the time, and she was wonderfully supportive. My various colleagues gave me a hug, told me it was OK. I know I'm my own worst critic, hold myself to high standards, but still. I think I've forgiven myself now, but I'm trying to reflect and think that having the shadow of chemotherapy looming on the horizon means I am anxious, sharp, not as calm or controlled as usual. It is affecting my work and I need to take a conscious step back before responding. I'll try.
I phoned Dr Howe's secretary on Monday, and was told a letter detailing my chemo schedule would be in the post that afternoon, and that it would be starting on 2nd Feb. The letter hasn't arrived yet, and I just want to know.
The waiting is the hardest part.
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