At the very end of Margaret Atwood’s Edible Woman there is a scene where Marian bakes a cake. Her entire apartment is catastrophic with mess, mould and disarray. Instead of cleaning the place, she buys new ingredients (flour, sugar, salt, etc), a new baking tray, new cake moulds, new measuring cups – new everything. Then, finally she bakes her lady cake. And somehow in that mess, (once the cake is iced and womanly/edible)  she finds her freedom from the madness.

This is how I feel in my apartment. For the past three days I’ve had one slipper missing, so have been walking around the flat with double layer socks on my right foot, and a moccasin slipper on my left. There is a constant pile of dishes across the counter, and the mite protection sheet of my bed (which last week I washed) has been sitting on the sofa waiting for me to strip the mattress – in the meanwhile it’s attracted my handbag, backpack, toque, apron, headphones, sweater, jeans, trackpants, running shoes, jacket, blanket, scarf and shall. The floor needs a good vacuum. The bedroom needs to be tidied . . .  the bathroom is okay, so at least there is that.

So here is the logical question : why so lazy, lazy-pants?

And here is the logical answer : Give me a break, I’ve only just finished radiotherapy.

But logical doesn’t always factor into cancer recovery. Instead, guilt turns up for the party.

Also, my husband is so absorbed by his thesis writing even he’s ignoring the mess – and that normally never happens. It’s almost like living the twilight zone, and some tidy-loving aliens have abducted my Zsolt (husband) to clean their spaceship, and replaced him with a thesis-thinking, non-cleaning version. No good!

A recent question of the week on facingcancer.ca was: “Is guilt part of your cancer experience? In what way?” to which women have responded with emotional and raw honesty. Here is a bit of my honesty (not so raw, but still honest), I feel guilty for the effects of cancer, rather than the cancer itself. The tumour that grew in my breast was beyond my knowledge and control. But, what happened after its discovery was entirely of my choosing. Essentially, after diagnosis – with the armpits and the shock and the sweating profusely – there followed nine genuinely exhausting months. (Inspiring months, but exhausting nevertheless.)

And now the kitchen is a mess, the living room is a wreck, the bedroom is untidy, and I cannot bring myself to clean it. So for that I do feel guilty.

Radiotherapy is tricky because not all of the side effects are pronounced. Frankly, my chest is red, sometimes sore, but little else. The mastectomy last June made the area mostly numb, so I don’t even feel much pain. And during the day the treatment becomes forgettable, particularly since the hospital visits have finished.

The logical response here would be: Don’t feel guilty. Let the mess be, your husband can clean it later (which would always be the ideal response in the ideal world – he,he,he).

And yet, what’s logical about cancer? I’m only reminded to slow down, accept my new pace when reading other’s experiences and writing about my own difficulties. Call it writing therapy, like Both Sides does in her blog. Sometimes I think we need to remind ourselves – however you find easiest – that guilt isn’t a logical response and others won’t blame us for what happens post-diagnosis.

It is okay to be tired. It is okay to get emotional. It is okay to let yourself recover.

And I’m trying to be okay with that not just some of the time, but rather ALL of the time. Maybe writing in my blog (rather than baking a women shaped cake) is my way of cutting through the crazy. No tasty cake to eat, but good results nevertheless. However, before anything goes further – I really need to find my other slipper.

To read posts-as-they-happen, plus the start of my breast cancer journey, visit me at www.bumpyboobs.com and check me out on twitter.