I’ve got nothing to say…

…but I know someone who will listen.

LaurenTedaldi
5 min readDec 11, 2017
Not her. She’s a terrible listener.

Someone’s just asked me a simple question and I’m starting to cry.

“What’s going on there?”
“And?”
“That sounds totally shit.”

Just a few of the things my counsellor (let’s call her ‘S’) would say that usually lead to some sort of helpful realisation. Or sometimes just more tears.

It was a long decision to finally take up counselling and it’s not been easy. Not least because I leave each session feeling refreshed and ready to move on, only to return a few weeks later with yet another medical disaster on my plate. I started to feel like S’s heart would sink when she saw my name on her bookings. Thinking “God, that train-wreck” on the inside while she welcomed me in to that little room at the Cancer Centre.

I’ve cried so much in that room.

I’ve cried so, so much. But I’ve also laughed. And got distracted by the lovely wall paper (tiny yellow bees). And talked about buying shoes in New York.

I would never have gone to counselling if it wasn’t offered for free by a charity called Dimbleby Cancer Care. Not because we couldn’t afford it if I’d desperately needed it (although counselling is certainly not cheap) but because I would have had to desperately need it before I’d have found some. It’s really hard to justify the cost of counselling to yourself (or so I’ve found, at least). The cost in money and the cost in time. The cost in sheer emotions and effort. And when you’re just about holding it together, you think “Do I really want to pull at that thread?”

AMC’s Mad Men. Betty Draper looking cool AF throughout her ‘therapy’.

When you’ve got cancer (and after, actually) you spent a truck load of time at the hospital. It can actually become your only social interaction and, after nearly two years of regular attendance, I actually quite like being there these days (like that kid with no friends who actually likes detention. That’s me). But when you have other commitments (like work or children) that require schedules to be totally rearranged for you to get to the 8th hospital visit (for chemo, doctor check ups, wig fittings, blood tests to find out why your nose hasn’t stopped bleeding this month) in three weeks, its almost impossible to imagine that you would add more inconvenience to the pot just for counselling.

And that’s where Dimbleby came in. They offered me someone to talk to when I thought I might need it. And I really did. They have a centre on the ground floor of my cancer centre and it means that, to me, it feels justifiable. Like it’s part of my treatment. So I go, I talk, and I leave feeling (a lot) better.

Riiiiight up her nose. Lovely.

That’s not all. When I was undergoing a long course of chemotherapy, I was also looking after my baby daughter full time while my husband worked. Chemo started when she was 7 months old and, while we considered getting her into a nursery, it didn’t make logistical, financial or medical sense. Chemo wasn’t every day, nursery is expensive and (as many parents will tell you) nurseries are like Disney Land for germs. The children, my daughter included, are disgustingly casual about bodily fluids (just this week she’s said “Mummy, give me my bogey back!!” and regularly lodged her finger so far up her nose that I feared for her brain). As I couldn’t risk getting coughs or colds, we kept Milla out of nursery and I did my best to take her to all the appointments that I physically could (doctors, blood tests, full body scans, no joke) while my husband took days off work (or grandmothers babysat) when I couldn’t.

The long chemo (and sitting around listlessly watching TV) was giving me back ache so a nurse recommended Dimbleby. Not really feeling like I was deserving of their help, they offered to give me massages to help me relax. I politely (I hope) declined because there was just no way I could justify more family (re)scheduling just so that I could have a massage. So you know what they did? They arranged for me to get my massages in the 2 hour wait between blood tests and the start of chemo each Friday. A small gesture with huge consequences for me.

In the immediate days following chemo, I’d be in bed, then I’d still feel rough but get Milla out of the house when I could, take her to doctors appointments when I had to, and lie on the floor while she used me like a climbing frame/bouncy castle/crash mat when I simply couldn’t face the day. But, with the addition of a massage, chemo days actually became the ‘me’ days. I’d have a massage in the morning and watch TV for the rest of the day. Granted it was because I was attached to an IV line of poison, but you really take what your given during those months.

So I owe Dimbleby a lot, apart from my spinal and mental health. And I’m sure they’ve made me a better person to be around for my family.

As a scientist, I should probably be advocating for a research charity like Breast Cancer Now, Cancer Research UK or The Institute of Cancer Research — they all really worthwhile charities, by the way, I’m sure the research they fund is helping me. And speaking out for one charity shouldn’t mean that the others are overlooked.

But there will always be a soft spot in my heart for Dimbleby Cancer Care. So, as it’s Christmas (and you’re supposed to tell the truth at Christmas), to me, they are perfect.

Today, I have counselling. I’m happy to say that, for once, I have no disasters to report and might get out of there with no tears. I’ll be going in feeling pretty ok and I’m not sure what I’ll say this time, to be honest.

But I know that whatever I have to say, they’ll be there to hear it.

My incredible friends Emma and Ollie recently took the frankly foolhardy decision to cycle the entire length of South America. (you heard, cycle). As Iron Man veterans, they are tough as nails (and so, so beautiful. Nothing to do with the Iron Man stuff, just pointing out the unfairness of it all) and they have found the journey gruelling beyond anything they have done before. If you fancy following what they’ve done or giving them a few quid sponsorship (that they’ll be splitting between The Nightingale Centre and Dimbleby), please do so here.

--

--

LaurenTedaldi

Ex-scientist, stalled writer, current mammy. Went on #maternityleave, ended up with #breastcancer. Not mutually exclusive, it turns out. Views my own.