Why I’m thankful to still be alive at 53
A joyful, yet honest account of my diagnosis with cancer.
It’s my birthday weekend (53 years young on the 2nd May) and although it will be crammed to the rafters with copious amounts of champagne and frolicking (Mr C - take note!), it is also a time where I am reminded of how lucky I am to still be here on this little blue and green planet of ours. Fourteen years and one month ago I was diagnosed with Non Hodgkins marginal zone B cell Lymphoma, a form of blood cancer. It’s a cancer that can never be cured, but with timely treatment and regular check-ups it can be kept at bay. I am currently in remission, a word I don’t like much. I prefer to say that it’s on holiday, a very long one hopefully!
There was a time when I wasn’t sure whether I would be here more than another year, let alone nearly a decade and a half later, but here I am! That’s something to be truly thankful for. I know this isn’t an interiors or gardening post today, but I did say I would every now and again write something about life. After all, my Instagram and old blog handle is @jpslifeandloves - I hope that’s ok. Btw - if you appreciated this post then there’s a little button at the end called ‘restack’ - please press it if you can!
Just as a side note: If you haven’t followed me for very long, then please know that I used to be a Vidal Sassoon stylist, which I retired from in 2020 to pursue my writing/interior/gardening career. Right, I’m off, I have a date with a champagne flute. Here’s my story:
I was standing behind a brand new client when I got the call. I was examining her hair and chatting with her through the dappled reflection in the mirror. My partner, Mr C had picked the phone up: “Baby, the hospital is on the phone for you and they need to speak to you right now.” He knew never to interrupt me when I was with a client, but these were exceptional circumstances. I made my excuses to the kind lady, told her I would be back shortly and made my way from my salon (glorified summer house) in the garden back to the house to take the call.
“Mr Clark, I have your results, can you talk?”, the oncologist said. “You have cancer I’m afraid. We don’t know what stage yet, but the biopsy confirms that you have a form of Lymphoma.” I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t. It was as if someone had stolen my voice and restricted my airway. “Mr Clark? Are you ok? Mr Clark?”
It took me another few seconds, but then: “Um, yeah, I’m…ok, I…think. I need to go now, I’m working.” With that I put the receiver down. Mr C asked me what they said. “I have cancer. We need to talk later. I need to get back,” I replied as I began walking back to the salon numb and in disbelief. I feel so guilty looking back as I didn’t think about how he must have felt being given that news and then left to worry his poor sweet mind while I cut someone’s hair!
That client turned out to be a good friend of mine in the end and I still cut her hair now even though I don’t practice anymore. I was going to remain professional and just get on with the job at hand as I pinned the smile back on my ashen face and entered the salon, but she knew. She must have felt the sudden emptiness I felt, the abhorrent stomach-churning sickness that had overcome my body. She asked me if I was ok. All I could muster was an almost inaudible mumble: “I have lymphoma.”