Audrey’s Blog on living well with disability and breast cancer

The Boy Mole Fox and the Horse Charlie Mackesy At heart I’m an optimist . I can usually see an upside. In recent years as well I’ve been practicing mindfulness and I do feel gratitude for all I have. And by that I don’t mean stuff, I mean people, I mean love and kindness, I mean all the things money can’t buy. But it’s also having enough to get by, to buy food and wine, to pay bills, to pay for Netflix,WiFi. I’m a struggling optimist this last couple of weeks. I can’t see the upside of this virus and worry about how it will affect us long term. I value not having to rush around and to have time to read and be mindful but in some ways it feels like the eye of the storm. We’re protected from the pain and suffering of others and maybe I’m struggling with survivor guilt in a way? I’m very aware daily of my privilege. I’m comfortable, I have a house, a garden, great support from my husband and I’m able to do things to keep me engaged and feel useful. But I’m fearful for t

Unlocked Dropped off with  mobility scooter  doors opened for me in the corridor of muted colours, my guide. Masks or smiles, distorted greetings. Hand gel and thermometers, lift doors open to another empty temple. An echo of a staged performance without the audience I settle in a chair. I’m linked to a drip. More bloods are taken. I wait. I know now how to wait: the watcher from the chair A stream of nurses pass to stock trolleys, with a strange dearth of patients. I try to disengage from the grip of anxiety low in my stomach. I read a book whose title I’ve forgotten. I text family to reassure them. I want it to be over. Finally it is. I leave in a flourish of hand gel. Should I have gone?  For an infusion to prevent cancer? A hospital visit my only contact with the outside. My lockdown release, an incalculable risk benefit Then I notice the wind in my hair, the on my face. Odd glimpses into others lives, Small

Unlocked Dropped off with  mobility scooter  doors opened for me in the corridor of muted colours, my guide. Masks or smiles, distorted greetings. Hand gel and thermometers, lift doors open to another empty temple. An echo of a staged performance without the audience I settle in a chair. I’m linked to a drip. More bloods are taken. I wait. I know now how to wait: the watcher from the chair A stream of nurses pass to stock trolleys, with a strange dearth of patients. I try to disengage from the grip of anxiety low in my stomach. I read a book whose title I’ve forgotten. I text family to reassure them. I want it to be over. Finally it is. I leave in a flourish of hand gel. Should I have gone?  For an infusion to prevent cancer? A hospital visit my only contact with the outside. My lockdown release, an incalculable risk benefit Then I notice the wind in my hair, the on my face. Odd glimpses into others lives, Small b

I’ve been writing so many things in my head. Letters to MPs, blogs, book.......But they’ve not arrived on a page until now. I was away for a week and in that time the world, or our world especially was shifting on an axis of fear and preparation. We were in a forest, surrounded by mountains which added to the disconnect between what was real and well-what was also real. My achievement that week was not, sadly, to gain access to the beauties of our surroundings. My mobility scooter is not able to go far in these settings. But I did manage in the hot tub with the aid of a hoist. Bliss. I managed to trust the hoist and the people controlling it to do it twice. We  could see the Loch (Long) recently emerged from its grey, rain fuelled presence to one of sparkling hope. And yet the the snow still defined the tops of the mountains and for that time all seemed impossibly normal. But our daily fervent study of the news led us to finally accept that we were headed home to lockdown. We even