Get cape. Wear cape. Fly.

Is it:
a) The name of an Indie singer from Essex who I wouldn’t particularly recommend listening to
b) An accurate representation of my birthday
c) all of the above.

The answer is c.

My amazing friend Sarah got me a CAPE custom made out of the most spectacular sparkly, sequinned material that she picked out for me especially. I pulled it over the sequinned dress I was already wearing (double sequins are the way to go) and I think I might have actually flown.

But I digress…

I said a final goodbye to Rosa on Friday morning and took myself off to the Cancer Centre for another 6 hours of chemo, which I would then go straight home from and have a NICE LONG BATH and go to sleep.
Though, once home, I had to stay up 6 hours after my chemo finishes to take a tablet that will apparently save my kidneys/bladder from the chemo. And with my usual bedtime of 8pm, and after a week of chemo, that wasn’t the easiest. I had to take a drug in pill format that I’d had over the week in the 3L backpack of water that was infusing into me each day. It’s called Mesna. I had to take it 2 hours and 6 hours after I finished my last transfusion. They gave me an extra serving in case I vomited it up and when they said that, I’d laughed.

I was laughing less when I got home 2 hours later and swallowed the first of three pills I had to take each dose, and immediately vomited it back up. Along with a lot of that gross orange stomachy stuff (I hadn’t eaten loads because everything made me feel ill). My stomach settled and I had the two left from that dose and one extra from my third, replacement set. Then I ate a cupcake that my wonderful nurses at Ambicare had given me earlier that day, when they sang happy birthday to me. Then at half 9 I had to take three more pills. I managed to get two down before vomiting them up, so I ended up using the third of that set and the two of my extra set. Lucky I hadn’t got more down before vomiting. And can you overdose on Mesna? Probs not.

Then I went to sleep and when I woke up, it was Saturday and IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY. THIRTY FOUR BABY!

What a beautiful age.

I call bullshit to all this ‘waaa it’s so mean that I keep getting older’ business. I admit that there was a time when I was scared of the idea of turning 30. I took on this ridiculous societal fear that getting older is something I should want to rail against. But I love my 30s, and every extra year we get on this beautiful planet, in this wonderful life is spectacular and something to be celebrated. Many of my friends didn’t get to 34. Or 44. Or 54, 64, 74, 84… And I don’t know how many more I’ll get. I hope it won’t be my last birthday, but it could be. It could be any of ours. And spending our lives being angry at time passing is ridiculous. I love the passing of time, the passing of the seasons, the passing of the moon through its cycles. And I LOVE birthdays!

I vomited first thing in the morning on my birthday, just once, but no more after that. I started the day with a Facetime with my parents, then a few of my amazing friends came around and I just got to sit on my sofa with people I love around me, and open the most beautiful, thoughtful presents. I also got brought some DELISH cake and I drank some small glasses of champagne and little tastes of my friend’s craft beers. We partied from 1:30pm until about 10pm, with the night finishing with me and one of my oldest (and most wonderful) friends, listening to songs that spanned our 17 year friendship.

Then I hit my limit and went to bed, via a birthday bath. I was too over stimulated to get to sleep so I filled pages of the notebook I keep at the side of my bed for these very moments, when my wind down routine hasn’t been sufficient and I’m still wired. Then read a bit of Epictetus and finally went to sleep.

34.

Yes, I think that even though I hardly left my sofa, I was definitely flying.

There’s a Tibetan saying: ‘Wherever you have friends, that’s your country, and wherever you receive love, that’s your home.’