Chemo has been crammed together, back to back over the last few exhausting weeks, thanks for being there!
I’ve never been one to ask for help. Blame it on the stories I was brought up on about my self sufficient Canadian pioneer family living several days canoe paddle or snowshoe from their closest neighbours, or the strong membrane of self reliance I developed living with the children on a remote windy Yorkshire hillside, or deep down, my fear of rejection.
Accepting my diagnosis and owning it is not all bad. Asking for help, certainly for me, a tough one, but it works. I pinch myself at my very, very good fortune, my support team of family and friends is mighty and wonderful.
My sister swoops in, laden with provisions, making everything better, she doesn’t need to ask, she instinctively knows what to put right before I have a chance to fret.
Like an Eyam plague villager, I often open the front door to find friends have left gifts, flowers, home made soup, cakes, flowers, books and fresh baked bread. We’ve been indulged with fancy Sunday meals on wheels or help weaving a magic floral carpet out of the worn out lawn. It’s not just material gifts, there’s always someone there to support me through my frequent hospital visits and after to hold my hand helping me get through the drugs side effects. I am amazed at the variety of ways support has been expressed, sometimes silent, always quiet, heart felt.
Thank you everyone, it’s very appreciated by all of us at 63.