Audrey’s Blog on living well with disability and breast cancer

This week we have been watching The Crown...Yes I know!  I’m no royalist and probab ly a republican at heart but we had a few recommendations of it as interesting drama. It’s only one perspective of course and they skip over theories that the abdicating king was also a risk because of his fascist friends for example- but its interesting. The last one I watched was when Winston Churchill retired and he saw his portrait that had been commissioned. An honest portrayal of his frailty was too much for him. In that moment I saw myself as well. A mirror of my own shock at my frailty. I seem to possess an ability to lock some of that reaction in a cupboard, only to be taken out on safe occasions. I keep going, taking comfort in minor achievements. I love getting out in my mobility scooter, even when I get wet! I smile at everyone who catches my eye and get warm responses. It’s a joy. I have created a safe environment at home where I’m resonably ok, apart from trying to do things in the ki

Welcoming Davie  The first time I understood how important it was to me to have grandchildren was when I was first diagnosed with cancer. I lay awake at night thinking how long do I need to be here for? Initially it’s at least see both the children safely on to secondary school. Then it was leaving school. Then maybe graduation or meeting their life partner. It was always long enough to ensure their wellbeing and that they knew how much I loved them. And I gave myself that goal, whatever I needed to do to secure that I would. But the trade off ( in my strangely distorted thinking process) was that I would need to accept I would never be here long enough to be a Grannie. So many people are robbed of parenthood by cancer, at least I was more fortunate than that. And as I celebrated each decade thereafter, I felt such gratitude for my survival. At 40 I completed a Masters and had a party for all those who had supported us through such hard times. At 50 I decided to grow my hair aga

I feel about my outside walker or rollator, as us in the know call them, as I did about the leaflets i was given when I had breast cancer in my thirties. They had older women with grey hair on the front of them. The nurse touched my hand as she gave them to me and I wanted to slap her face with them. I then spent several hours speculating on how I could shred them and post them out the slatted windows at the top in my room in the hospital. It was on the tenth floor, no one would ever know. In the end I didn’t, mostly because I couldn’t reach!  Back to the walker.....it’s clumsy, heavy and brown. And I hate it. For many reasons. I hate it because I can’t walk any distance anyway and it reminds me of that. I hate it because I need help to even get it out. I hate it because it’s ugly and my heart sinks as I approach it. I hate it because I feel disabled by it. I hate it because it reminds me of how I really am, not the version in my head still. And being honest, i hate it because it fe