Almighty Humanity

I don't know how I feel about God. I do believe, and I can't help that- I don't think your belief is something you can control, you can't force yourself to believe in something you don't. Things that happen can change your belief, but I don't think you can just will yourself to believe or not believe in something.

When I was first diagnosed, I was so angry. Angry at people for not understanding, angry at the doctors and nurses for pouring fire into my veins, angry at my friends for carrying on with normal life. But most of all, I was angry with God. Angry because he had forsaken me, he had given me this awful thing to cope with and just left me when I needed him. I wouldn't go to church, I wouldn't pray, and I would swear hands down that I was an atheist. But I don't think I was, I mean- even if I was angry at him, then it still meant I believed.
As the chemo got worse and worse and the throwing up came and the peripheral neuropathy and the pain, I got desperate. I used to stay awake in the early hours of the morning, making bargains with God. Saying I would do anything if he just made it a bit better. If he helped me get even a little better, I would give up chocolate, or I would go to church or pray every day. I would have done anything at that point.
When it didn't get better, then I got angry all over again and wouldn't talk to God at all until I broke and started bargaining again. It was an endless cycle of hating God and pleading with Him.
When I got better, and started to get my energy back and lost weight and started to feel more like myself- I turned back to God. I thanked him for me getting through it, thanked him for making me better.
People probably think I'm crazy when I say this, but I could feel it when it came back. I could feel it in my bones that something was wrong. When I was up late at night, my stomach would be at my ankles with the fear- knowing I would have to go through it all again, knowing that I could feel it growing back inside of me.
I even called my Mum one day during school, when I had gotten a particularly bad chest pain, and asked her to pick me up. The first thing I said to her as we got in the car was "I think it's back."- I knew, I just could.
I prayed and prayed and prayed in the three months until my scan after it had grown a little. I stayed up late, and cried, and listened to music that made my heart feel like it was being ripped in two- I just wanted to feel the pain. Feel the pain before, so that when it came to the diagnosis that I knew was coming, I would feel nothing. It doesn't work like that, apparently. I didn't cry, when it eventually came, and I shaved my head after my operation. I didn't tell anyone but Lucy, who did it for me. I was shaking the whole time, watching the hair fall from my head and knowing I had to go through hell again- wondering why God had done this to me again. Wondering what I had to do just to stay alive, and why I of all people had to fight for my place on this earth all over again.
I kept my faith, though, I convinced myself that it wasn't God's fault. That it was my genetics and that these things happen and He can't control them. But as soon as I got on to the ward, and saw every teenager there so sick, and some dying, I couldn't. My faith toppled the first night after my operation, as I heard someone screaming in pain down the corridor. I curled up after my parents left, and I cried again, but not because I was hooked up to three different drips, or had three new scars along my back, or because I knew I wouldn't be able to have a proper shower again in another nine months- but because the belief that it wasn't God's fault just toppled again. It just went, and I felt like I had nothing to believe in. He had made me better the first time, right? So if I didn't believe in him now, I would never get better, right?

Wrong. So, so wrong. Because God didn't make me better. Doctors did. God didn't help me through those difficult, pain filled nights. My Mother did. God didn't stroke my head when I was sad because he knew it soothed me. My Father did. And God did not come home and tell me funny stories or take the piss because he knew it made me feel lighter. My sister did.
And you know what? God didn't give me the strength to get through everything I had to go through- I did. I FOUND the strength inside me. Humans are incredible, and I found how Incredible I could be when I was diagnosed the second time. I realised that I believe in Him, I do. I love God and just because I don't church doesn't mean I love him any less. But I believe in myself and the power of people. I believe people can find strength from anywhere- no matter what their belief, or lack of belief, or colour or age or gender.

So when people ask me what my belief is- I say people. My belief is in humans. I am a Christian, too, but above anything else I will always believe in the good of humanity.

Anyway. I hope you are all well, and I believe in you all.

Befuddled Believer x

The Boredom Bug and its Baking Habits

Hallo, all. 

Well, I actually have nothing better to do so I am indeed writing a blog again. YAY! Well, I hope it's a yay... A few of you probably groaned- if you did, boo you. 
I've got the Boredom Bug. It's what I call it when you get that 'I'm-so-bored-of-life-can-we-skip-to-the-good-bit' feeling. It's the kind of boredom where you lie awake at night too BORED to go to sleep, and lay in bed in the mornings too BORED to get up and face the very BORING day you are most likely going to have. It makes you cranky, miserable, restless and at the moment its causing my insomnia to creep back. 
I always wake up with the intention of doing something proactive- but seeing as my day isn't filled and I don't HAVE to be anywhere or do anything, the proactive thing slips and I slowly just make my way from lying in my bed to lying several other places around the house. At least I move around the house, I guess.
Today, though, I couldn't take it anymore. So I forced my mother to bake with me, though by the end she wasn't really interested in baking the endless biscuits or cooking my vegetarian meal (that's right, I'm a vegetarian now). She at least baked the shortbread with me, though, and it was delicious and definitely worth the ridiculous amount of effort I put into squeezing it into a pan to cook. Then I baked apricot and dark chocolate chip cookies, which turned out fabulously as well. Finally, I cooked a 'three bean, four veg' chilli that I completely made up but which actually tasted pretty nice in the end. Spicy, but nice. 
See? Boring. In fact, reading this probably bored all of you- it bored me writing it, and I'm actually stimulating my brain to do so. 
I don't really know what to do about it anymore, I think I have to just wait until it passes and fatten myself and my family up with baked goods until it does. 
I've started a '101 things to do when you survive' list, and I plan to start that now (with the easiest to complete first). I'll post the first few on soon, if I haven't already. Goodness, I'm boring. 
Well, anyway. I should return to staring at my laptop screen in a very bored manner while stuffing my face with delicious apricot biscuits and shortbread.

Night, all, and hope you're all doing fabulously.

B x

Famous, getting Fat and (In)Fertile

Hello, stragglers who are still reading this ridiculously sporadic blog.
I'm sorry- I really am. I'm about as good at updating this blog as I am at keeping a diary- and that's not very good. Like, at all.
(Also I apologise for the awful alliteration in the title- but at least I tried to be clever).

So- hello! Ok, an update on what I've been doing. Well, I was on ITV Anglia News recently- as I was at the second birthday party of the Teenage Cancer Trusts ward at Addenbrookes. I even went to the before thank-you party in another part of the hospital for people who give regularly and gave a little speech. It was wonderful and so nice to give back to something that means so much to me- though actually I fear I may have gotten more out of it than I gave. Hmmm- I shall just have to do more fundraising, then.
I was also in the Cambridge Evening News for the same event, which was also pretty cool. I'm also still helping the fabulous boys who are cycling one hundred miles for the Teenage Cancer Trust (if you want to help me out and donate: http://www.justgiving.com/Matthew-Hunter3 ), and meeting up with friends and whatnot. I started this whole recovery thing trying to eat healthily but that has gone rapidly downhill and I'm now not even bothering with pretending that I eat healthily (always a bad sign)- so I must get back to that or people will mistake me for being back on steroidal treatment.

A thing I probably haven't mentioned on here, actually- is that in November time last year I actually got my fertility sorted out. By that I mean that I found out what was going on down there and got the right medication to try and get things back on track. So. Unfortunately I did get told that I cannot have babies of my own, and that I'm in premature ovarian failure. That's basically like the menopause, except for younger people. It was awful at first, I felt sad and then angry that I'd lost yet another thing to cancer- wondered how many more sacrifices I would have to make. But I'm actually alright with it now- I mean, I'm never going to be happy about the fact that I can't reproduce naturally but who would be? I'm young and I've not even sorted my future out yet so worrying about whether I can or can't have kids right now would be pointless and would only cause me more grief at a time that I really should just be spending trying to get my life back together. Oh, and also apparently I have a small uterus- measuring at 4.5cm, according to the letter I got in the post. Maybe that's too much information, though.

Apart from that- not much is happening in my world. I'm booked up almost every single day, but it seems like I never seem to do much. I think I'm probably just bored of the daily grind- but this week is filled with shopping with old friends and going to the theatre and seeing my boyfriend and probably baking and fairies and the like. I'm joking, but in all honesty- this week should be good. I'm excited, as I'm still tired- but getting little bits of energy back each day and feeling more and more like my creative self. Hopefully it's the start of something brilliant and promising- I just have to keep well enough to see it through!

OH! And I almost forgot- I got brilliant news! I'm being moved from the post transplant clinic to the normal ol' lymphoma clinic! This is brilliant as it means not as many hospital visits and more of a life and looking at late effects and no more scans and ugh-ness. I'm finally moving on and up! And I'm eight months out now- almost time for more jabs (uggggghhh) but also nearly at the end of my recovery period although I fear I may have pushed it back a little by exhausting myself at school only a couple months after getting out of hospital. OOOOOPS, oh well- we won't mention that, shall we?

Well, to you all: goodnight and farewell and I hope your lives are going as smoothly as nutella left out in the sun.

Until next time (sorry for being so lax)

B. x