My month began with what is now a six monthly visit to the nearby cancer department, to be told, yet again, that there's nothing wrong with me. It's a trek I don't mind it at all. It's nice to have it confirmed each time if nothing else.
For a long time I didn't talk about the subject. After all, who needs to hear depressing stuff like that anyway. I certainly didn't. nor did I like being fussed over or made to feel self conscious. I didn't even let it out to the people I spent my first Milford with, though I was going 'under the knife' the following week.
Now, though, it's a fait accompli, something that's dealt with and finished. Cancer made a lot of noise but it didn't follow through. Cancer, as an adversary, is a loser.
I suspect I always expected it to be, optimistic or not. I approached the topic as a nuisance I had to live with till it went away again, and in the end it did just that. Does positive thinking make a difference? Who knows, but it didn't do any harm.
I suspect it also made me a bit more stubborn about writing. I had the germ of a story in my head, but no one liked even the idea of it. Once upon a time I might have thought 'Oh well, it's got no chance' and given up on it. This time? I wanted to write the thing, and I was **** going to write it. The opening pages took me 5, yes 5, drafts to get to something that feels about right, but that's always the worst part. I almost have the rest now.
Will anyone like it in the end? Who knows. But I do, which is sort of the point. And since 'Ashamet' originally seemed equally 'unlikeable', and is now getting 5 star reviews and some staggering comments, maybe in the end this one will turn out not to be so awful as some people thought?
Fingers crossed. And keep going, regardless?