By strange coincidence I ended up on a flight to Scotland, as I did exactly one year ago on the day of my cancer diagnosis. Last January 15th, we dashed straight from the breast clinic to the airport with four small but devastating words “I’m afraid it’s cancer,” ringing in our ears. The reality of that statement settled slowly over our Scottish holiday like sediment over the dead shellfish of our previous life.
Today, we re-enacted the events of the year before, but without the shock and trauma. Well, with the normal level of trauma associated with flying Sleazy-jet. I did expect some body memory to kick in and to feel a bit stressed. I was curious to see the residue this year might have left in its wake.
But as we took off and I watched our ascent into the cloudless sky, I was flooded with a profound feeling of well-being. Unexpected joy fuelled a trickle of tears. I’m sure there will be a variety of tensions and rubbishy stuff to still sort through. But today was all good. Today I’m alive. And I am alive.