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Sucker for Hope


Since my mammogram all clear the air around me has expanded, decompressed like the unsealed vacuum of a surfacing diving bell. I find myself in a faintly familiar landscape where I can feel the breeze, breathe deeply and dare to hope. Almost. Last week my psyche asked if I was proud of how I’ve navigated the Cancer Shitshow (she may have said journey, but I don’t do cancer journeys). I do feel proud, I said … but then in crept the self-undermining but-ism. I was brought up in an environment under-scored by the old adage “pride comes before a fall”. The hangover from this is that, while I enthusiastically celebrate the achievements of others, I tend to throw myself shade. I’ve bastardised this pride/fall proverbial for the Shitshow, and now I daren’t even dare to hope: hope comes before a fall. I fear that being hopeful will jinx me, and then if the sneaky fecker does come back I’ll feel like a complete sucker. So I do the opposite of hope: yes, I’ve got through the Shitshow, for now …. I have no evidence of disease, yet. But then I’m being a sucker for fear. I don’t want to be a sucker for fear. I want to be a sucker for hope. Hope that comes before a fall, before good news, before shit news, before the end.

The hope that comes before reaching for the sky-scraping possibilities and myriad of momentous beginnings that are waiting in every minute of every day, right til the very end. #BeASuckerForHope .

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