I am going to try very hard not to talk about food.
I could talk about the the flocks of field fares (not sure how they spell themselves) I saw on our walk, or I could talk about the scent of a pinemartin which the dogs regularly pick up and follow. But who wants to sound like Autumn Watch? (But were the vast numbers of birds I was seeing today escaping from floods further South? I would like to know that. )
But here is what is on my mind: a year ago we were functioning in our usual, rather haphazard way in the 'normal' world where you make plans for - well, lots of normal things.
And then we were suddenly thrust into a grey, parallel universe which is the cancer world. I think of our entry into this world as happening in the waiting room to the oncology ward, a place which is haunted by very pale, ill people. The waiting room was thoughtfully provided with bright red plastic seats. I knew immediately that we were in the wrong place - that this was not for us. Wrong door, wrong waiting room, and definately wrong colour scheme. We almost turned round and walked out.
We hadn't even got to the bleepings, and bags of chemo and the wheeling about ...
However, having passed through the door, we discovered that there are lots of people who are just like us on the other side, people who we thought inhabited the 'normal' world but, in fact, have one foot through this door too.
And then the stories began: the stories of miracles, the tragic stories of great-uncle so-and-so who had this, and grandma who had that. Some of these stories made me very angry indeed, and some made me very hopeful.
For a year we have managed to have a foot in both worlds - the 'normal' world and the 'cancer' world. But, for the time being, I am a fully signed up member of this parallel universe - what amazingly brave people live there.
But, perhaps, that's all of us?
Back to those old 'teach yourself' Italian lessons. Now, what was that about how to buy a pair of shoes?
----------------------------------
