As I prepare to fly to Belfast tomorrow I ponder for the first time how people will view me. I’m not a particularly vain person, and was never exactly blessed with pretty boy looks, but I’m meeting up with half a dozen guys I’ve not seen in a couple of years and certainly won’t have been exposed to the Bell’s palsy on my face.
I’ve chosen to be very open about revealing my cancer. That’s had a mix of responses from people getting in touch and meeting up to others disappearing a little, presumably not quite able to handle the situation. I’ve probably been guilty of the latter with others in the past, so I get it. Knowing what I now know I’d certainly not repeat it though.
It’s on to Belfast. They’ll have to endure my face. Put up with me using a finger to support my lip. Cope with my newly developed shuffle. Understand why I don’t stand up or sit down with ease. Ignore the spots and dry skin. And I’m sure they will all be fine.
It’s strange that this trip is the one that’s suddenly making me feel more self-conscious. As has been the case for the last six months, it’s strange how I seem to dislike the Bell’s palsy more than the thing that’s going to finish me off.