The Work Christmas Party

I have stayed out pretty late for me. I walked through my front door, after stepping on the dishwasher salt at 23:15hrs. A sign of Prior Planning and Preparation, I dare say. If I wasn’t coming home to a blocked toilet, it would have been almost perfect. Tonight was my work Christmas party, and by some freak of PADIMAC, I was able to go. Yes, man.Let us thank the person who gave me a cold in Cycle 2; if it were not for them and the consequential week’s delay in treatment, I would not have been able to go.

I would like to tell you about my work Christmas party last year, so you have some sort of comparison, but that would be indiscreet. Needless to say, I had a few jars, had a day off the next day and it was fun. Oh, and I lost a red hat from a market in Helsinki, which still haunts me to this day. Tonight, I was clearly no longer the life and soul. Maybe it was big headed to think I was previously, there’s a pretty nice girl from the north who would give me a run for my money I am sure. I am now just a girl who makes people well up when she talks to them. Fortunately, I am used to this, and can hide any reciprocal waterworks pretty well.

I enjoyed myself today. Seeing the faces, talking nonsense and indulging in an alcoholic beverage. I felt normal. To a limit. My absolute longing to get back to normal, which would mean walking on The 7s tomorrow with a stinking hangover is palpable. En route home, after my taxi dropped my friend off at Embankment Station, it dawned on me that my limitations are omnipresent, and I burst out crying. As much as I try, it is not the same. I say it all the time, but being normal is beyond difficult. I could just live in my flat and clinic bubble, but I know that going out and trying to be normal is always going to be the lesser of two evils regardless of how much it hurts. Try or give up. I know which side my bread is buttered.

I like to think that my sadness is because I know that deep down, beneath the paraprotein, the Emma I know is still there and she is fighting to survive. She wants to tell a joke where cancer is not the punchline. As much as I enjoyed my night, it made me want my life back. I want my life back. For emphasis, I want my life back. Everything is a shadow of what it once was and I am in limbo. At every opportunity, I want to grasp hold of the normality and not let go but that’s not possible, and when it goes away like in my taxi this evening, it makes everything so far beyond bittersweet I want to feel the pain in my rib.

*Must remember that I enjoyed myself.*

On a lighter note, since my diagnosis, it would be fair to say that the people I shared floor with every weekday have been amazing and surprising in their support of me and my fight. Here are two of them, wearing a Christmas headband, because that is how us civil servants roll… We. Are. Crazy.



Night, night. It’s okay, tomorrow, I will wake up and I will be all about My Myeloma, not dwelling on the whatever.