Stick to your knitting.

My mum taught me to knit when I was a kid. I remember my first real project was a wine coloured Aran jersey that was way too big, and I cast off too tightly so it could barely fit over my head. I loved that too big jersey but didn’t know how to fix it so I eventually gave it to charity (idiot!).

Apparently I did my sister’s knitting homework (!) for her when I was 10 cos I didn’t want her to get in trouble for refusing to do what she saw as a sexist piece of homework.

Meh I still knit.

I like to knit. It’s my hobby, my meditative activity, my happy place. Generally speaking I will get an hour or so done a night. And ignoring the odd fail, generally speaking my output is quite cool (and now I know a stretchy bind off technique so no issues with neckholes!). I’m pretty sure my family are all excited when they get allocated me as their gift giver on the Christmas roster.
So when chemo took away my ability to knit (well I can still knit but it makes me nauseous), well maybe I should’ve paid attention.
But no. I thought I’d be fine just not doing it for a while. And I was mostly fine. Until I wasn’t. I’ve been having a really rubbish time of it lately, and I think it’s partly due to not having my knitting. Yeah sure I’m going through chemo, and yes last week the side effects ramped up a notch.
Suddenly that inability to knit expanded into an inability to think straight. I was tired and I just couldn’t catch my breath. I was scared and I couldn’t get my brain out of free fall. It’s a weird feeling knowing your brain has gone to the dark side and you don’t want to be there but you can’t stop it. Where is the line between being kind to yourself and just giving up. Would it be easier if I weren’t single? Or is that just the grass is greener thinking. Where has my sense of humour gone?! What does any of this mean, well except obviously the Xmas knitting won’t be done in time this year…

Fortunately this is my last chemo cycle. I know I’ll be through the worst in a few weeks. But I can feel myself struggling for air. I’ve forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other. (Metaphorically. I can still walk people.)
I want to curl up in a ball and yell at everyone to just leave me alone (sorry kids!). Which of course is not what I want.
Cancer is shit. Gimme back my knitting needles!