In the words of the eternal Britney: Oops, I did it again. It’s been a very long time since my last post. This time I have an even better excuse. I was in the eternal city. Roma. Con la famiglia.

Still, I do feel guilty for not having written in so long. Maybe I am suffering from Catholicism by osmosis. Forgive me reader, for I have sinned. It’s been over two weeks since my last post.

Ah, it’s no good. I cannot blame the traveling for my silence. It has been a difficult few weeks for me. I have not been myself. In fact, I have been so unlike myself that I have to ask why that is. I’ve been blaming my bad back for my mood but it has occurred to me that I may have it backwards, so to speak. Maybe the back got all seized up because I’ve been mental. I will never know.

It seems so cliché. The holidays being a difficult time of year for so many people and all. But damn, there is some truth to it. And they sort of kicked my ass this year. Some people have suggested that I may be struggling because it has been a year since all of my “shit” started. This is true. But I haven’t spent a great deal of time reliving that. Rather, I have been marvelling, although that is perhaps too positive a word, about where the old me has gone.

When I look back at pictures of myself that are only one year old it seems like I am looking at a former self that existed in another age. Or maybe in an alternate universe.

I feel sort of like Sean Young’s character in Blade Runner. Like I just discovered that I am in fact not human but a replicant and that my memories have been implanted to create a past that isn’t real. Sort of rocks a person’s world, to discover that you aren’t who you thought you were, or at least who you thought you would be. This may not make a whole hell of a lot of sense to you. It isn’t easy to explain. And if you aren’t into groovy Sci-Fi movies you are really lost now. But just roll with it.

I asked my husband what heavy shit has been on his mind lately and he put it very well. He said that this just isn’t where he thought we would be right now (meaning at this point in our lives). No kidding. I don’t know about you but I didn’t spend much time worrying about whether I would get a life-threatening illness in my thirties or whether my spouse would either. But the thing is, you don’t even have to suffer what we have just endured in order to experience the feeling that your life hasn’t turned out the way you thought it would. Isn’t that in some sense the quintessential human dilemma? I mean, how many of us can look at where we are and say, this is exactly where I thought I would be five, ten, twenty years ago. If you can and you are deliriously happy then bravo (and fuck you a little bit).

I think that the last year has just intensified what we would nonetheless be experiencing as a normal part of ageing. We are getting older. And that kind of sucks. Our children are growing up. And that is bittersweet. It happens so fast. And when you chuck cancer into the mix it kind of makes your head spin.

On the other hand, I do believe that the way we are feeling now — that consuming puzzlement at how we ended up where we are now — is temporary. It really hasn’t been that long since everything happened. I have another surgery ahead of me in a month’s time. My body and my mind are still reeling from the havoc wreaked on them. Oh, and I am having a really bad hair moment, even after a dye-job and cut. I need to be patient. Patience, this will come as no shock to you, is not my strong suit.

The past weeks have taught me humility. I’d been so busy congratulating myself for killing it, for being so strong, for “sailing through” chemo, for being bionic, for exceeding expectations, for looking forward. But this isn’t a Disney movie, people. This is real life. Or at least maybe this is a Sci-Fi movie based on a Philip Dick novel starring Harrison Ford and Sean Young (and Rutger Hauer and Daryl Hannah too, BTW). Yes, I will always have my humour.

A key story line in Blade Runner is that the replicants are wired with a limited lifespan (which is not very long) and they, naturally, want to live longer so they decide to visit their creator for some answers. Unfortunately, their designer explains, there is nothing to be done. The replicants will die. There is no fix.

Boy am I glad I’m not a replicant. But I know the feeling of wanting to increase my lifespan and of wanting answers from my designer. Of being — at times — outraged at how I was made, or at least how I ended up, since we may not discover anytime soon whether this defect was hard-wired, environmental or some other factor or combination of factors. Of experiencing how beautiful life is and being tortured by the thought of missing out. Of being willing to take extreme measures to make it last as long as possible. Would one call them extreme? I know people who have gone through much worse, more extreme measures. So I should say difficult. Difficult measures.

In any event, for much of last year I was so intent on discarding the hand I was dealt that I didn’t give much thought to the difficulty of emerging victorious.

It turns out killing it really knocks you for one.

So where am I now? Well, it may true that I am not where I thought I would be five years or even thirteen months ago. But like the Romans, I came, I saw and I kicked its ass. And the important thing is that I am here. I’ll figure out the rest as I go along.