In the recent interview with the BBC they referred to me as terminal. That word triggered lots of people I know to be in contact me. It’s not a word I use. I’m not even sure it’s accurate. The world of secondary breast cancer is now a journey into the unknown. So far the only drug that’s worked for me is olaparib and it’s only available off license to me. No one knows how long it will work and right now I’m working on the basis I’m doing ok and hoping it will stay like this for a very long time. I set some dates in my head….if I can get to…..but don’t say them out loud for fear of tempting fate to have a different plan. I’m taking wise advice on building up my nutrition and well being. And generally taking time to smell the roses……..or more accurately watch the blossom. It’s joyful catching the avenues of blossom around the city.
We once visited Japan and more specifically, Kyoto during the blossom festival. The array of delicate flowers interspersed among the temples was so exquisite. So delicate and precious it was impossible to capture in a photo or in text. Japan is an enigma to me. A land of contrast and I saw so little of it. I didn’t see Hiroshima or read more about the impact. And after that we went on to Vietnam to be tourists yes, but also to visit our son who was working there. Could a country be more of a contrast to the beautifully designed Japan? Vietnam or more specifically Hanoi at the start of our holiday, has a temple around any corner, a plethora of streets selling one type of clothing etc. There is for example a street of shoe shops, a street with all clothes, one with jewellery and so it goes on. And then you see the French influence of croissants and baguettes for sale alongside the opportunity to breakfast on pho as the locals do. What was so apparent was that the warmth and friendliness of the Vietnamese is a contrast to the Japanese whose culture favours the inscrutable. It was a fabulous holiday, the type I can only dream of now, given my health and lack of mobility.
So this summer the goal is to enjoy time with family and precious friends on closer shores but nonetheless beautiful. Scotland too has a treasured scene around many a corner and at this stage in my life that is more than enough.
And back to that word, terminal. No I'm not there but I know it’s coming but till then I’m living…not dying. I started this poem and so far it’s only one verse…
Terminal
Is it where the bus stops?
That cold spot in winter
when home beckons
out of reach
a bleak spot.
Or so it seems from here,
so far from the terminal
and not far enough.
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