Let’s get physical!

Hello hello, lovely friends!

Well – what an epic few months. Yes…eventually, after more twists and turns than an episode of Doctors/The Coroner/Escape to the Country (you see…it probably was time) – I have finally, officially gone back to work. Six whole weeks ago.

It feels like ages, mostly because it has been – but then, not everything about this merry little detour from my life reaches these pages, my friends.

After much checking and discussion, to-ing, fro-ing and to-ing back again, all core members on Team Chicken (medical and other) felt was it was a good enough time as any to have a go.

It’s not that I haven’t checked in at all; from time to time I’ve voluntarily dipped my toe into the (now Atlantic-sized) ocean of my work e-mail; realised I didn’t understand a thing and withdrawn it very quickly into my lovely comfy slipper and settled back down in front of Jeremy Kyle with a grateful yet terrified parp, and a nice piece of cake.

I remember when I was off on maternity leave, following the birth of with my (recently 23-yr old) daughter. A colleague came to see me at home. She cooed a bit over my baby and then started saying, “ooh, you’ll never guess who’s taken over so and so……and you know that thingy project we’re doing with whatisname – well, they’ve only gone and said they want to do something completely different with it now ?? Hahahaha!”

I was staring at her open-mouthed with warm newborn sick down the back of my neck, supporting a tiny bottom, clad in a rapidly-composting nappy with a weary, yet very happy hand.  Indeed, I recall that I myself was wearing a nappy at the time #childbirth.

I could not understand how to respond, or the relevance of my visitor’s conversation to anything, anything, in my recent and current state.

This time around, I am more than nervous. I sort of remember what I did for a living; I sort of remember what my employer does; I definitely remember the people I worked with.  The nice ones, that is.

For once, Move-it-All is not, and I mean NOT – needed. The mere anticipation of returning to work results, happily for me, not so for Dynarod, in the best output I’ve had for a year.

Oooooh – hang on a minute. Output. Let’s just ‘re-visit’ that?? (I’m still learning!)

Us cancoids are incredibly lucky to get amazing support from all bloody sorts of sources, throughout and beyond the treatment process. One of my faves has been cancoid yoga, which happens at our local Macmillan centre every Thursday.

In we all troop, week by week, in varying states of OK-ness. Obvs, as ever throughout this process, I was trying to prove that this condition, or rather, its treatment, is merely a bit of extra fluff on top of the general fluffiness of life. I am cheery! And subtle to the hilt. Couple of shabby backflips, nod to the God and there I am, nama-bloody-ste. Check me out sistas!

Some of us do the class sat on a chair; some get down on to a mat (I’ve seen Sheila there for eight weeks running and I swear she hasn’t been home yet. If only wet patches could talk.)

We’re up on a chair or down on the floor. Janet, our teacher, begins.

“Good morning friends!”

(We like Janet, she’s really nice, we all think. Comfort.)

“Now, before we begin, who’s got Active Cancer and who is ‘Living With’?

(Janet – do you want us to say this altogether or one by …)

“You, over there, I forget your name – are you Active or Living With? I just need to fill out my sheet, sorry”

(Jaaaaaanetttttt!!!!! This is very awks for us lot)

 

In we all settle, in the ways which we can manage.

 

I’m lying on the floor – as it’s my resting pose in life, never mind yoga.

We begin a sequence to relax and stretch and rest. Happy days, think I – if this is yoga, sign me up – I’m in.

 

“And breathe….” says our Jan. “This will release all the toxins in your body…..”

 

(Awfully sorry Janet – didn’t know you meant all at once.)

 

Luckily, I usually lie next to Jim, who I can blame for literally anything. Poor Jim has taken one for many members of the team, far too many times. He’s Active alright. We’re Living With. Him.

 

Thank goodness, thought I, when I got back to work. All they need is my brain and its diligent application to the resolution of pressing matters of the day, month, quarter, year. Yeah – I’m onnit.

 

Now don’t get me wrong: my employers could not have been better – like, the best in the whole world  – in supporting me through that tiny blip I had. Honestly …completely amazing. I was incredibly lucky by comparison with other people – my new cancoid friends – I met along the merry way of treatment.

 

Yet I get back – scarcely recognising the terms in which colleagues now speak. It seems to be ultra physical, and trust me, I’m not in that shape yet.

 

When I went off with cancer, I was being asked to ‘lean in’

If I could ‘lean in’ it would make me ‘on point’ to ‘execute’ (ouch!)

Now I am back, I am asked to ‘double down on point and lean in.’

 

What am I, Olga Korbett??

 

I don’t know what any of these things mean. I’m happy to dance the Tango with a kitten on my head if that’s what is required of me – I’ve been a loyal employee for years. But I need to know what the steps are (and what the kitten is called, obvs).

So, breaking it down. The last time I was ‘on point ‘ was ballet classes, which I did between the age of 4-13 (I was pretty good #darcywasluckiertho). OK, happy with that – I’m sure I’ve still got it.

When I was asked to ‘lean in’ , I dutifully inspected next door’s pond and my own toenails. One had tadpoles in but fortunately the pond was clear. Tick.

I did try to ‘double down’ today but sadly Janet was underneath, my ballet shoes were off and there were tadpoles all over the place.

 

I can see that being back at work is shaping up to be much more of a physical challenge than I thought.

 

(Janet: cancoid yoga class forgives you. I need to come back, asap. Namaste love)