I am in hospital as I type, recovering from my mastectomy-reconstruction surgery, hooked up like you wouldn’t believe. Three drains. A catheter. A cannula for my morphine (YEAH BABY – given myself a little hit this moment, just because I can. Shimmy shimmy). It sounds scarier than it is, but of one thing I am certain – I rode into hospital on a love wave and all this has been made bearable because of it.
Thank you to everyone for every little thing. I haven’t cried much because of the cancer. An occasional hiccup. A brief burst. Try as I might, I can’t get those tears out (>milks eyes<). But I have often been brought to my knees by the kindness of you lovely people. Left gasping.
I sleep knowing that Tom and the girls are being carried by our community, near and far. Cards. Meals. Lifts. Playdates. Dog walks. Letters. Hugs. Talks and walks. I have poetry. Playlists. Grazia. Werther’s Originals. Oils. Balms. Eye Masks (genius). But most of all, amazing words; this is when digital comes into its own (it would totally suck to be diseased in the ’70s). Instagram comments and messages, whatsapp, texts. Messenger. It’s not always easy keeping up with it all but, even if we don’t reply, know this – we inhale them. We drink them in and gulp them down. I don’t understand how it works, but it’s like magic. Osmotic. It lifts us up, and I speak for Tom and the girls here, because they feel it too.
To you all, heartfelt thanks for the love wave. It carries us.
And that’s not the morphine talking.