By 5 August 2012 No Comments

All of my four have got some kind of bug. The feverish, shivering, limpet-like mummy, mummy, I want my mummy kind of thing. In the spirit of our Olympians it was Theo who passed the baton of sickness on to Jake who wasted no time in ensuring that Ella was brought to her knees. Louis, until this morning, seemed to have escaped it but judging by the clammy forehead and glazed expression on his face over lunch I’d say it’s a done deal. I, however, am fine. This gives me great joy. My immune system has laughed in the face of whatever lurgy is doing the rounds and instead continued it’s Stirling work keeping other, more frightening threats to my health at bay. Sometimes I hesitate before admitting to feeling well. Tempting fate and all that. It’s quite an adjustment, living like a regular person again – leaving the label of sickness behind. Attempting to move on and away from the experience of cancer is like standing on top of the world’s highest mountain preparing to jump. You know you have to take the leap in order to really move forward and fly but you have no idea if the parachute strapped to your back is going to open and keep you from falling. Wow. That was a truly corny analogy. Next thing you know I’ll be emerging through a cloud of smoke, gospel choir at my side ready to launch into an aptly named power ballad by R Kelly or the like – I can only apologise. Moving swiftly on. Or rather moving swiftly forward which is my theme of the day, week, month and beyond. They say that life begins outside of your comfort zone. You’d think that I’d be content to nestle into the heart of mine, wrapped forever more in an invisible duvet – safe, snug and out of harms way. It seems not. I’m ready for something that’s for sure. Not quite sure what it is yet or how I’ll fit it in but I’ve got my sleeves rolled up, antennae out and toes tapping. Just got to empty the dishwasher first. Oh and quickly put that that pile of washing away. And mustn’t forget to put the rubbish out for the binmen tomorrow. But that’s okay. Room in the diary for a close to home adventure? You bet.

Emma Campbell

Author Emma Campbell

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