November 25, 2002 My (breast) cancer was diagnosed in 1995 and I’m quite used to it now. I think of it as an incompetent kind of disease, that sometimes manages to rally a weak drunken army and to attempt to make an attack somewhere in my body. However, most of the time it lies about in a dirty heap snoring. It recurred (The Battle of the Windpipe) in 2000 when a new tumour was found in my chest. However, thanks to a drug called Taxotere (from yew trees) it disappeared again. I think it’s also thanks to acupuncture which I’ve had for years. Earlier this year there was an uprising in my lower back (The Spinal Wars) which went on for a while, but is now defeated. I never used to like all this battle imagery, but in fact it’s rather apt. I do feel like I have to go to war sometimes. There are a few weak battalions hiding out in the mountain areas and forests of my body. Hence a recent operation . . . and I’m sure there are all kinds of ambushes and hijacks ahead, but on the whole I am quite stable now.
March 12, 2003 Whooohooo! I’m feeling very giddy and excited after receiving my Northern Rock Writer’s Award last night. It was a really lovely night. There was champagne and chocolates and purple flower arrangements and not too many speeches. I think the approval is easily as important as the money. Writing can be so lonely, and often you don’t really know if it’s any good or not, so these awards are like little surges of joy and affirmation for us insecure writers.
May 8, 2003 I am obsessed with Brazil. I like saying the word to myself. This is because I am taking my fictional characters on a journey in this next novel. Luckily, it doesn’t cost too much taking fictional people on holiday! So I’ve been reading about Brazil, meeting Brazilians, eating Brazil nuts, learning salsa dancing, drinking juice. This takes up plenty of time.
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July 21, 2003 I’m in Rio in a long blue internet café full of young Brazilians gleefully playing computer games. Outside it’s the most perfect balmy day, a sort of golden autumn, with a slight breeze. Me and my fictional characters are far too happy . . . it will be hard to make much conflict in this story. We’ve been dancing, trying to move our hips and not our bodies. There’s music everywhere. Found out about a church called the Church of Moses Snake That Ate The Other Two. This will, I think, be my working title. More later.
August 3, 2003 I’m back home with PG Tips, Marmite, custard and Bad Girls. Life is sweet, that’s for sure.
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November 19, 2003 I have been to Warwick and Hull (for writing workshops). I am becoming an expert on things that I don’t like in hotels. There is a smell I haven’t given a name to yet, of some kind of cleaning fluid, and something else that is awful . . . but what is it? Infidelity? Loneliness?
February 16, 2004 My last blood tests were a bit iffy. The enzymes in my liver were abnormal, and my calcium levels were high. However, this isn’t necessarily bad, even though from where I am standing it’s hard not to think the worst.
February 25, 2004 Then this morning I went to get the results of last week’s liver scan, and I’m afraid that my breast cancer has spread into my liver. Although I know that something like this was bound to happen sooner or later I still feel shocked. It was, as my doctor said, a real OH SHIT moment.
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March 29, 2004 Yet, the more I think about it, you could look at these results in a number of ways . . . you could say . . . “Isn’t it amazing, Julia, that you look and feel so well?” and, “These results show some slight changes, but nothing too terrible. A bit of treatment will help to stabilise things. We’ve got so much choice these days . . . and these are BRILLIANT drugs.” Or even, “You have done extremely well, and we look forward to helping you have a very dignified and happy death!” I would be happy with any of these statements.
My other approach is to try and forget all about it, to pretend I haven’t got cancer, and go and live in pretendy land. This works very well on the whole.
For now there is still chocolate to be eaten, books to be written and mad arrangements to fulfil, and daffodils everywhere. What weird flowers they are, like they were made in a plastics factory by aliens.
June 11, 2004 On Tuesday I had a blood transfusion and I feel lovely and plump, like a cat full of cream.
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June 24, 2004 I’ve been busy being better, although a part of me won’t crow with delight about shrinking cells as I feel that my role in all this is to be steady, to hang on to a kind of mid-course so that when the hospital is gloomy I don’t plummet, and when they tell me good news I don’t whoop either. I just keep on straight ahead!
September 6, 2004 Tomorrow I am running a workshop with GPs about the vocabulary of pain. I really love doing these kinds of workshops. They feel rather useful, and always remind me of the power of words. We’ll be doing writing exercises and reading things out, and hopefully everyone will go home with their vocabularies sharpened up, and their ears too.
December 10, 2004 On Wednesday I woke up unable to put any weight on my left foot, so I had to crawl about on my hands and knees. The cat liked me in this state very much. Doctors came round. There were many phone calls. It’s being suggested that I go to the hospice for assessment, which is probably a good idea, but it makes me feel a bit like the end is nigh. My sister, who works in a hospice, says that dying is only a small part of the work of a hospice, and that it’s very satisfying having people come in with all their muddled drugs and symptoms and sorting them out so that they can cope with the world again. Also the food is supposed to be lovely and I can’t be that close to dying as I am very interested in food.
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December 31, 2004 My face continues to be a bit of a problem. It feels as if it’s wrapped in an icy sheet, or that someone is poking small sharp pins into random parts of my cheek. It makes it hard to concentrate. Chewing is strange, too. Also I keep on falling asleep. I think this is to do with fiddling with drugs. Sleep is so delicious though. I really love it. My insomnia days are quite gone. It’s a cave I can always retreat to.
Truthfully, I am frightened of 2005. God knows what will happen. It’s best not to think about it too much. I never thought I would get this far to be honest, though my legs still seem very beefy, and I have lots of things I am looking forward to this year. Poems are buzzing around my head like brightly coloured insects! I am not going to make any resolutions. One day at a time, I reckon. Turn up the music!
January 19, 2005 Here in Newcastle I am rather busy . . . running workshops and doing readings and cooking soups and knitting things. In the frosty garden all kinds of things are beginning to sprout. I am working on a first-aid kit for the mind . . . a box of poems and images and spells and recipes, with the artist Emma Holliday. We are going to produce a limited number of boxes that people can use to get through crisis situations! Otherwise, I am listening to Nina Simone, growing narcissi on the mantelpiece and trying to work out how to write or type on to bandage-type material as I want to make some “poetry bandages”.
January 31 Didn’t we manage January well? Ha Ha hypothermia and cold bones. You can’t get me! Just Feb to go and then nothing can stop us!
Extracted from Julia Darling’s diary on www.juliadarling.co.uk/weblog/everything.php
Her play, Appointments, is on Radio 4 next week: Monday-Friday at 10.45am