I have taken to this positive mind/body thing so enthusiastically that I have literally convinced myself in the last few days that I am as fit and well as the next man (unless of course the next man is Jack Lemmon in the Odd Couple). My memory has also colluded in this farce and downplayed any knowledge of past surgeries or chemo drips. In fact my old surgery sites (bowel and liver) have taken on the air of elder statesmen who scoff at the little chemo upstart and tell him in their day they practically let the surgeon rip me open whilst on nothing more than paracetamol.
This is obviously how the human brain is wired to cope. Just ask any women who has given birth more than once. But this lack of memory and denial from my brain doesn’t help my poor physical body who has just about had enough of this and is staging flash daytime sleep attacks. In fact I am periously close to becoming narcoleptic.
And if that isn’t enough you can add schizophrenic to the list. There is the sensible me which went through the surgery and the bad days of chemo and takes care of all the pain stuff. And there is the silly me which does the challenges and writing. The problem is the silly me doesn’t know when to stop and the sensible me has to tell it off frequently.