Aiteall is a lovely word in the Irish language that doesn't have a direct translation into English. It describes a brief spell of beautiful sunshine between rain showers. I've been thinking about that word a lot lately.
In early 2026, the niggling hip pain I'd had for months finally disappeared. A combination of HRT, consistent strength training and yoga had done the trick and, after a couple of years of joint pain, injuries and a body that seemed determined to slow down no matter how hard I trained, I was back enjoying running again. A new pair of "magic" runners later and I was knocking minutes off my race times and delighted with myself. Smug, even.
My mojo, which had been missing in action for a couple of years, had returned. I was eating well, sleeping well and doing all the things the wellness podcasts proclaim will help us live longer: strength training, protein, saunas, sea swims. All boxes were ticked. So when I found a lump in my breast, like someone had slipped a coin under my skin, I dismissed it initally. It couldn't be anything.
I was too healthy. Too active. No family history. I don't smoke. I'm not overweight. I was doing all the right things.
As it turns out, doing all the right things doesn't protect you from the wrong result.
I am now six weeks post-lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy and physically, I'm doing really well. I have been incredibly lucky. There was no lymph node involvement and my surgical margins were clear. I've recovered well, and my arm numbness is fading. I'm back exercising, swimming in the sea and, life looks pretty normal for the time being. I feel this is the sunshine between the showers now.
I'm waiting to meet my oncologist to hear the results of my Oncotype test and to find out what comes next. Because it's summer and he's been on holidays, I've packed my anxieties away and placed them carefully on the top shelf until he returns. There's no point taking them down every day. Instead, I've tried to make the most of this unexpected pause. Long evenings. Sea swims. Time outdoors. The proloned spell of good weather we've been having.
Even in the weeks of waiting for the mammogram, the biopsy, the surgery and then the pathology results, I was aware that each day seemed to bring its own little aiteall. Friends arriving with homemade meals, electric fans and green alien squishies to support my sore arm. Unexpected kindnessed. Friends and family gathering around me like a small army determined to help and remind me I'm not alone.
I have found myself wearing bright clothes and planting brightflowers. It feels important somehow. If there's going to be darkness, then there also has to be light.I feel happy, and the happy moments seem sharper somehow. I also feel sad. Scared. Sometimes terrified. Cancer has a way of amplifying everything. Fear feels bigger, but so does gratitude for the things that really matter. Ordinary moments suddenly become extraordinary but worry can quick turn to terror.
Life has taken an unexpected detour for me, but as I face into a week where I will hopefully get news of my treatment plan I am determined to enjoy the 'aiteall' moments.
