This is the 21st post of a series that is introduced here.
21st – 24th March 2018
I am off on a jolly to the big city of Edinburgh for a two day event ‘Younger Women with Breast Cancer’ (YWBC) organised by the charity Breast Cancer Care.
The ticket collector is getting closer and I shift uncomfortably in my seat, but the squirming stops and I feel the flood of full-on glee when he scribbles across my ticket without noticing I am travelling on the wrong date. Happiness is enhanced as I am sitting next to a power point AND I have free WiFi. The train journey passes quickly.
Before I check in to my hotel I go to see Jenny Brown, the literary agent who’s helping to find a publisher for the book I have written – she tells me it once took her six years to find someone a publisher…I wonder if that is her subtle way of trying to tell me to be patient… It took a year to write the first draft of my story and, after a commissioned editorial report, another year to restructure the entire manuscript. In the third year a second editorial report was carried out to get the material up to submission standard – I carried out the minor changes, but this was challenging as I was undergoing chemotherapy. I got there though, and in June last year Jenny made the first submissions to publishers. This is now the fourth year of the journey toward publication. It’s a slow process, but Jenny is confident – and I just have to hope that I can stay alive long enough to see my book in print!
The pack on my back is heavy – too heavy after deadlifting at weights class yesterday. When I arrive at the hotel I’m booked into my back is in spasm.
The next day is full on at the Breast Cancer Care charity event. I walk into a room full of strangers. Chattering voices grow louder and there is lots of laughter. With a breast cancer diagnosis in common we are all insta-friends.
I enjoy the breakout groups – there are many on offer, but I’m here specifically to attend sessions on the menopause and intimacy in relationships. I want to know if sex is always going to feel like being shagged by a cactus…I want to know if other women feel the same…and I’m hoping the professionals who are facilitating these sessions will offer answers.
Chemotherapy and tamoxifen put me through a medical menopause and that has dried me out which causes sex to be so painful – but that’s if I even have sex, which mostly I do not because my libido has disappeared into the sunset. I used to enjoy sexy time and feel cheated and angry because that part of my life has been fairly destroyed – but equally I am grateful to still have my life.
Sadly the professionals provide no miraculous answers, I’m going to have to find my own way forward. So what do I take away from these sessions? Well, I’ve learned that I’m not the only person whose sex life has ground to a virtual halt – and some of these chicks are way younger than me; their stories have blown me away and so not only do I feel less alone in what I’m experiencing, but I also appreciate that I am a very lucky girl to have such an incredibly supportive boyfriend who puts no pressure on me and still makes me feel loved.
After a long day me and Lizzie are first to head straight for the hotel bar.
It’s midnight and the bar closes. Folk drift off upstairs to their rooms to get a good night’s kip before another day of breakout groups – but not me. No no. Me and my old school pal jump in a taxi and head off into the city. We get out at the Bridges. Fiona withdraws money from a cash machine while I sit next to a homeless guy and talk shit. My friend pulls me away by the arm. Live music belts out from some place. We go in. I like it. It’s crowded and the vibe is good. I head straight for the dance floor. Somehow I end up on stage with the band and then suddenly I decide I’ve had enough and leave. I’ve hit the proverbial wall.
The homeless guy is still out on the street. I sit next to him again. People pass by and I enjoy asking them for money. One man withdraws a tenner and hands it over, I give it to my homeless friend. Some dodgy looking character approaches us; my new friend stands up to greet him and after a brief exchange they trade places! I walk down onto Princes Street. The homeless dude is off to a shelter and offers me the tenner for a taxi. I decline. I’m happy to walk and I know the way back to the Holiday Inn…
It’s quite some time later. I’m fed up walking and I’m freezing. I wonder how I’ve ended up outside Murrayfield Stadium and realise I’m a bit lost. I’m stumped as to how to get back to the hotel. There’s no fucker around who I can ask for directions and I’ve no data on my phone to check Google maps. It’s amazing to me when a bus appears. It’s not going my way but the driver gives me the number for a cab. I pull out the change that’s in my pocket, £3.80 – just enough to get me back to the hotel.
I’d had a good day and a bloody brilliant night. The Younger Women with Breast Cancer weekend had been well worth the trip and I’d recommend it to anyone who has the misfortune to be diagnosed with cancer. Check out the website Breast Cancer Care for more info.
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