This week I felt a bit sorry for myself. As a rule I hate being pitiful, it’s pathetic because it never makes the situation any better, but this week I couldn’t help it.
On Monday morning, I got up early to get myself to the gastro centre for another scan. This time an MRI scan mainly for my small intestine. I was going on my own and I realised I was scared.
The same thoughts keep going round my head, what if the cancer has returned?
The truth is, it never returns because it never leaves. If you’re lucky it just lies there dormant, maybe forever, but if you are unlucky sparks can fly, like fireflies in the dark igniting one thing to another.
As I’ve always said, it’s not death that scares me but the torture on the way, living in pain.
On Monday morning I was in a lot of pain. I was sitting on my own, drinking a giant jug of liquid, I had to drink it for the contrast dye to work. I sat there on my own feeling scared, it all felt ominous.
I started to feel like I was drowning from the inside, thick gloopy water pushing against my ribcage, rising back up to the top of my throat.
Usually in these situations I make stupid jokes, and make the person with me laugh.
I make a point of not looking or feeling afraid but this time it was just me.
I realised my big fear at that particular moment was at least shitting myself, and at most my small intestine exploding.
It’s really hard living with one stoma but I don’t know if I could live with two. Two bags, two hidden disabilities, the tiredness and fatigue.
I needed a smile, I needed an arm around me, I needed to hear that everything would be ok
I was sending myself down into a spiral of fear. Not because I was afraid but because I felt very much alone. I needed a smile, I needed an arm around me, I needed to hear that everything would be ok.
The scan lasted for about an hour. It took longer because my veins were too small and tight to put the needle in for the cannula.
I felt cold and very tired and everything felt invasive, like I could actually feel the scan slicing through my body.
After the scan I decided to go and get a hot chocolate to cheer myself up. I felt very cold and hollow inside, like part of my soul had evaporated.
It was so fucking cold out, bits of snow started to fall. I pulled my coat round me tight and made my way to Pret. I ordered a hot chocolate and a pain au raisin. I’m on a strict diet so I knew I’d have to pick the raisins out. A cloud came over me again, would a few raisins really make me combust? I spun around and there outside the window, a homeless guy sat on the pavement. He wore all black, hooded with a scarf wrapped round the lower part of his face. I could see how wind beaten his brow was, he sat on layers of stuff. His hands were wrapped up in cloth and the bits of snow were falling down on top of him. He looked like a Dickensian snow dome.
As I went out of the door, I took the loose change from my pocket and gave it to him.
Our eyes locked, he said thank you.
I began to walk up the road with a slight limp because I was already in pain from eating the fucking raisins.
Then I thought about the homeless guy, sitting there in the freezing cold.
I went back to him and asked him if he’d like a hot drink. He looked up and said a cup of tea would be really nice, I asked if he wanted sugar, he said, yes two.
I went back into Pret and got the tea, as I stirred the two sugars in I was thinking that the tea was very milky but maybe that’s a good thing. Then I thought about the act of stirring sugar in a stranger’s tea. There seemed something strangely intimate about it. I handed him his tea and I could see that he was smiling under his scarf by his eyes.
As I walked off, he shouted to me “you have a good day”.
P.S. Thank you to Peter the florist who 10 minutes later refused to let me pay for my flowers. On the grounds that I’d been through a lot.
I walked up the road clutching my giant stem champagne roses feeling truly loved.
Tracey Emin is an artist
