Stumble, Fall, Get Up. On Repeat.

I left the house yesterday thinking I'd be gone an hour. Pop over to the dentist, sit through a ten-minute procedure, come home. That was the whole plan. But I've lived long enough inside this body of mine to know that plans are more like suggestions, so I did the thing I always do now: I showered, I dressed properly, I packed a good book and a bottle of water. Not because I expected the day to unravel, but because looking after myself, even in small ways, is the one thing I can always control.

Here's a bit of background, so this makes sense. At the end of 2021 I was diagnosed with cancer that had come back, spread, just at the time when my father’s health was rapidly deteriorating. My oncologist called just days before my father's funeral. For a while it felt like I was going to slip out of the door right alongside him. And then, somehow, I didn't. I stayed.

I've been living with treatment and then later on maintenance chemotherapy ever since, which keeps things steady but also keeps my immune system running below everyone else's. Small things become slow things. A cut, a sting, an infection, everything takes longer to heal than it should.

This year in particular has felt like a boxing match. A broken foot. Complications that led to surgery. An infected bee sting, of all things. And most recently a dental problem that got fixed, only for my body to answer back with an infection on my palate, because that's simply how it goes for me now.

Punch, stumble, up. Punch, stumble, up. You can't schedule any of it. You can't put "unexpected trip to the oral surgeon" in your calendar. You just have to roll with the punches and trust that you'll come out the other side.

So yesterday. The dentist took one look at my sore, inflamed palate and sent me straight to an oral surgeon. Not the welcome sort of surprise. I wasn't scared, exactly, but I wasn't not scared either. I noticed my face had gone flushed and hot, which is the body telling the truth the mind is trying to talk itself out of. Everyone there was kind. They ruled out the worst of what it could be, which is the sentence you learn to live for, and told me the rest is manageable. Dealt with. Fine.

And then I stepped outside, and there I was, standing at the edge of Georgetown on one of those rare, perfect summer days. Warm, sunny, not hot, not humid, the kind of morning you get maybe a handful of times a year. My whole planned day had dissolved. I had nowhere I urgently needed to be, a book in my backpack, and a city glowing around me.

So I decided to keep it.

I walked. I finally visited the Old Stone House on the edge of DC and Georgetown, one of the oldest houses in Washington, a place I've been meaning to see for I honestly don't know how long and never quite got to. Funny how a cancelled plan can hand you the thing you kept postponing. From there I drifted to Il Canale, the Italian place my family loves, and found a table in that lovely half-shade, half-sun. I opened my book. I ordered a coffee.

I ate creamy mushroom chicken, which happens to sit beautifully within the way I eat now, protein and fat keeping me level. I had a few pieces of roast potato too, and I chose them on purpose, because I already knew I'd walk home afterwards, a good fifty minutes or so on foot.

And then, because the day was simply too good not to, I finished with a hazelnut affogato. Ice cream drowned in espresso. Pure joy in a small glass.

This is the part I want to say gently, not as a lesson, just as something I've learned about my own body: I could enjoy that affogato without any guilt because I knew what came next. The long walk home smoothed everything out. Movement after a sweeter meal is one of the kindest things I do for myself, it lets me say yes to the ice cream and still feel steady an hour later.

Not a rule. Not a rule for anyone else. Just a rhythm I've found that works for me, the same way metabolically balanced eating and my weekly Pilates sessions have given me back a sense of control that cancer keeps trying to take.

I walked home in the late sun feeling grateful. The day was nothing like the one I set out to have. It was better.

I've always wanted to be more patient. I'm a dynamic person by nature, I like to move, decide, do. But my health has been teaching me patience whether I asked for it or not, and I think, when it comes to this, I've actually learned it. You stumble. You fall. You get up. And sometimes, in the getting up, you find yourself sitting in the sun with a good book and a coffee, and you realise the falling delivered you somewhere you'd have never planned to go.

That was yesterday. A little piece of my soul, laid out.

Thank you for reading it ☺️

IMPORTANT NOTICE

The content shared by The Metabolic Kitchen Diaries is for general educational and informational purposes only. I am not a doctor, registered dietitian, or medical professional. Everything shared here is based on personal experience, self-experimentation, and publicly available nutritional research. Nothing on this platform constitutes medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Please consult your GP, oncologist, or a qualified healthcare professional before making significant changes to your diet, especially if you have a health condition, are undergoing treatment, or take regular medication. Every body is different. What works for one person may not work for another. The Metabolic Kitchen Diaries encourages individual experimentation, curiosity, and self-awareness, with professional guidance where appropriate.