Saturday 28th March

I’m not sure if I’m punch-drunk or shell-shocked, or what…

When the computer guy told me that my computer had to be completely scrubbed and even the operating system reloaded, I barely turned a hair. Mostly, I think it was because I knew by then it was about actually being able to use the computer again. Thanks to the ‘wonderful’ (hopefully the sarcasm stands out) individuals who managed to encrypt all my data, I either could not use the computer again, pay the ransom (with no absolute guarantee of reprieve), or do what must be done.

That’s most probably the clue: do what must be done.

It is a lesson that cancer teaches you.

When you are diagnosed with cancer, there really are no choices – well, for you as the patient. At that stage, the only thing to do is to put yourself int eh hands of the various doctors. The choices become theirs, based on their expertise and the tests that are done.

It seems that even the docs don’t really make big choices as they have well-researched protocols they follow, depending on what the tests show.

Mum used to speak about being in a sausage machine at times. Cancer treatment could feel like that, but everything is so individual and dependent on each person’s particular condition and circumstances that there is no uniformity among the ‘sausages’.

Apart from having cancer, that is.

There used to be an ad on the radio that I have not heard for a while. It was something about how large a space would be need to accommodate cancer survivors and how that space has effectively changed over the years.

As with many things, I listened to the ad, but never really related to it. Now, it is a really weird feeling to know I’m one of those IN the space.

I, too, am a cancer survivor.

And maybe that’s exactly why I can deal with potentially disastrous things like losing data and actually be able to move on.