Cancer in my family...

Today, seven year ago, my mum died. In my room, at 67, of cancer.

At the beginning, when we got the diagnosis, the most difficult part was to distance myself from the experience of taking care of my mum and helping her die. Inevitably, I would think of her pain, her suffering, her slow decline and, then, her very fast fall at the end. I didn't really think that I would die of cancer, but I dreaded what lied ahead.

During the last four months, I have learnt a lot:

- I have the most loving, caring, sweet and fantastic partner EVER. I feel soft and cuddled in his arms. I love Gabriel more than I could ever think, and feel more loved than I ever have before.
- I have the best chosen family I could possibly dream of. I have received countless demonstrations and tokens of love, constantly, from close and far.
- I have two little creatures who keep me warm every day, internally and externally.
- I have the most supportive work environment, which is giving me time and space to heal.
- I have access to superb medical care, because my work pays for a superb medical insurance.
- Despite feeling that I have lost my hair and my youth, I am young and strong, and poisoning myself relentlessly is NOT killing me.
- Notwithstanding the nausea, pain, dizziness, lack of energy and bleeding through my nose, I feel good ever day, at least for a couple of hours.

My mum had almost none of the above. It breaks my heart to realize how hopeless her situation was. But it also makes me realize that there is nothing in common between her cancer story and mine.

I am surviving.