Cat therapy

Okay so no judgement. Up until this morning, I had no idea what a cat scan was. I probably didn’t want to know. My world is full of writing and dancing. In my imagination I am either Emily Bronte or the Sugar Plum Fairy.  Pharmacies are my least favourite places in the world and the medical scene is another planet.  I’ve never had any desire to study Science or Physics. The fact that my marks were probably not good enough is another matter entirely.

So it may surprise you that I have developed a sudden, urgent interest in how scans and biopsies work. I can see the C cells on a screen and that makes me more determined to get rid of them! My first big gun treatment is this week. I do not expect it to be a breeze, but boy do I want it. I have a novel to publish, students to see to and those Tango lessons that are so long overdue. I’ve even considered taking up running (don’t faint.) My Guardian Angels are waiting in the wings. I think they want to see whether or not I’ve calmed down enough for them to come closer. I’m encouraging them. I’m also embracing all the Earth angels who have already showered me with so much love. You’re probably one of them, so thank you with all my heart.

Despite my reputation for being a bit ditzy, I am fully committed to the treatment program ahead. I plan to add some of my own too, which is giving my family sleepless nights I fear. But there is one therapy that has come as a complete surprise to me. Archie, our feral ginger tom who spends his life hunting and avoiding cuddles, has decided to offer his services. From the day I was diagnosed, he has appeared on my chest as soon as I climb into bed. I never hear him arriving. He lands with a gentle plop and announces that he’s there. Then he treats me to a deep purring session, before he curls up in the small of my back. If he does go off stalking for a little while, he lets me know of his return and then stays until the first birdsong in the morning.

I am still only at the start of the tunnel, but I can already feel that there are going to be some surprises. I know not all of them will be good, but if Archie’s treatment is anything to go by, I’m hopeful.



5 responses to “Cat therapy”

  1. I was adopted by my neighbour’s ginger tom just before I was diagnosed, and he was my cat therapy! He loved sunbathing on my towel next to me; curled up next to me whenever I sat down with a book and a cup of tea, and I would wake up from a nap to find him next to me. I’m so glad you have Archie! PS I completed my treatment six years ago, and can recommend planning a special trip or event for when you are well again to keep your focus on the end of the tunnel.


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