The Real Me: A Choose-Your-Own-Adventure Story
- timandcloe
- Apr 2
- 5 min read
Updated: Apr 6
Warning: This Post May Change the Way You View Me (Proceed With Caution)
One of my favourite colleagues once told me that when she first met me, I came across as polished, quiet, nice - a well-put-together adult who projects effortless, breezy competence, as if no hair was ever out of place.
I completely agreed - absolutely me. A serene swan, if you will. Graceful, calm… suspiciously boring.
Until she continued: the more she got to know me - the real, 100 percent version - she realised I am a complete and utter mess. A proper shambles of a human being.
Rude. But apparently, that’s the best part.
She said I’m more real, brutally honest, blunt, darker, chaotic, held together with tape, legs shaved only on the front, and far funnier than expected (I did take offence to that once).
So maybe… more of a seagull.
However, only those in my inner circle get to see that version.
And here is how this ties into what I am about to write. I had two options when drafting this:
#1 – Keep it light, skim the surface, maintain the polished illusion.
Or…
#2 – Full disclosure: slightly unhinged, borderline disgusting, and you get the real me.
…After much toing and froing, I decided to go with number two.
So this now becomes your choice - like a “choose your own adventure” story.
If you’d prefer to keep your current, respectable image of me intact, stop now. Close the page. Truly. Do something pleasant and forget you ever came across this. Consider this Page 47: The Safe, Polite Ending.
If, however, you’d like to join my inner circle and read without judgement, strap in.
Because congratulations - you’ve turned to Page 48: Enter the Bowels of Chaos....
Where this week, I shat myself. In the school car park. Right before going into the uniform shop.
Looks like Number #2 was meant to be…
Page 48: Enter the Bowels of Chaos
Yep, you read that correctly - nothing happened during the eight hours prior since being awake, and then my body picked the worst possible moment.
Bravo, body. Stellar timing. 👏
So at 3:14pm on Wednesday afternoon, I bolted. Left the car park childless, raced home, cleaned up, had a solid ugly cry, downed some Gastro-Stop, and was back - re-parked by 3:20pm - ready to walk into the uniform shop like nothing happened.
All while silently begging my bowels not to ruin my life critiquing Harry mid-pants fitting (“You surely can’t grow any more, child!”) or while handing over my spleen for winter uniform payment.
And the kicker? Not even the first time this week.
Nope - round one happened after baseball drop-off. No warning. No negotiation. Full Mount Vesuvius on the back roads of Wanneroo stuck in traffic (apologies, Pompeii enthusiasts).
Yep. I'll give you a moment here to move through that imagery...
So it turns out, interestingly, that one of my targeted therapies - given as a loaded initial dose - has introduced my intestines to a chaotic new hobby: aggressive Twister, followed by zero-notice evacuation.
A hobby which, for reasons best only known to my body, is exclusively performed in the car.
And all very common, apparently. Lucky me.
“It's at this point that I’ve now lost most of my dignity, though I have also gained a deep appreciation for leather car seats and air fresheners.”
A Winning Attitude (With a Side of Face Kicking)
But the frustrating thing is that, in between these disasters and complete loss of dignity, I actually felt like I was winning this week.
I went back to work and even managed the full week (well, four days - Fish and Chip Friday… sorry, Good Friday).
I was productive, clear-headed, and my fatigue was manageable - all from the comfort of my home of course (keeping safer while my immunity takes a hit and close to anything I might need).
But, feeling more like myself again, I was back in the workplace rhythm - complaining about the week and ‘those’ colleagues from other departments, and hanging out for the weekend by 10am on Monday. You know, normal workplace stuff.
I did school drop-offs and pick-ups. Click-and-collect groceries. Tidied the house. Watered plants. I even took the rubbish out - usually stacked sky-high for Tim because… eww, spiders. Absolutely not.
Hell, I’m even doing teenage double-date drop-off tonight, complete with subtle surveillance laps of the restaurant car park afterwards (as ordering to-go from the same place might be pushing it).
And the pinnacle? I managed to get out of the house last weekend for Harry’s baseball trophy day, where he was surprised with the MVP award for both teams he played in.
Seeing that smile. That pride.
Even from the back of the room, feeling rough and singled out by a mask-offended parent, I still showed up - and witnessed it.
And that meant everything. 💛
But then, just when I felt like I was reclaiming a piece of my old life… bang. A slinging snapkick straight to the face.
My guts went rogue.
Food continued to taste like bitter nothingness, with ulcers to keep things interesting.
Random, delayed allergic reactions to chemo resulted in hot, itchy rashes across my chest, limbs, and my poor face, delivering full “angry teenage back-acne” energy.
Oiling my nostrils is now also a thing - apparently necessary to keep things functional, given the now rather… exposed situation up there.
And my hair… my beautiful hair is now coming out in clumps. Though I’m still hoping I keep more than I lose (optimism intact, clearly).
Little reminders: this isn’t over. I’m still in it. Still fighting to be here.
Silver Linings
But with all that said and done, what it's shown me is that there can be good days too. Small wins. Fleeting glimpses of normality.
And honestly? That’s more than enough.
Enough to remind me that, even in the chaos of cancer, the everyday still exists and I can still show up and be part of it.
And that, my new inner circle brewbies (brews + boobies + friends = brewbies), is what will carry me through to next Friday’s cycle number two.
Even if it means staying within a safe bathroom radius… carrying emergency underwear and wipes like essentials.
Which turns out… that nappy bag purchase? Excellent decision. 👍
P.S. I hope there are no regrets about choosing Page 48… because I don’t think we can come back from this one.
This blog is to allow me to write a little more about it along the way. Partly to keep friends and family updated, and partly because writing has always been how I make sense of things.
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