Skip to content
January 5, 2013 / Kate Gross

My whole life

I

The best way I can characterise things at the moment is that I have two lives, existing in parallel. There is the good life in which I feel normal and I want to eat curry and fish and hamburgers, and drink red wine, and talk to people and play with my children. And then there is my chemo half-life, which takes over when the FoxyFol is injected. In this life I feel shut up in myself, sick from my head to my feet, exhausted and have (as Ruth Picardie put it so nicely), PMT to the power of 10. Fun times! So far the half-life has been unpredictable. At first, I felt fine. Wotzallthefussabout, I thought. But then the second cycle was harder and this time round I have been totally submerged into my half-life like Euridyice being pulled down into the underworld. I tell you this for two reasons. First, to excuse the total lack of response to emails and letters. Your messages are a golden thread of loveliness in my grumpy gloom, even if responding is mostly beyond me. Second, because the half-life is making me a disagreeable companion, and because wedmin and book writing are pressing, I am going to be a bit of a hermit in January. See you when the crocuses come up.

But that is enough about the half-life. I want to tell you about my whole life, which re-asserts its strength over the FoxyFol after a few grim days of struggle. Luckily for me and mine, Christmas hols fell during 10 days of wholeness. And during these hols, life was like the very best John Lewis advert you can imagine. I had my own theme song propelling me along. The only thing that could have improved it was snowball fights (so Isaac tells me). So now when I am feeling out-foxed, I have a montage of pure brilliantness which I can play in my head to remind me it won’t last forever. It goes something like this.

Sunday 23 December, 2pm. The feeling of toxic foxes running through my veins lifts, suddenly. I am consumed with energy and iron a huge pile of sheets. Hurrah! This gives me unspeakable amounts of pleasure. The prospect of being well for the season of festivities is all I want for Christmas. I play my Christmas video from the AGI-ers and have a little laugh and cry (viewings on application). Christmas eve, Billy and I sit down for dinner. Presents are wrapped, stockings stuffed, ‘nacks left for FC on his long route round the world (and down the extractor fan at 47 Ross St, since we don’t have a chimney). Smoked salmon, caviar, cheese, PORT for me and B.

Christmas Day. FC made it down the extractor fan to deliver our bounty. Morning is a haze of joyous stocking opening and transformer-making. Optimus Prime is Weaponised. The Thunder Cats sword does get bigger and bigger, and its’ sides come out. We are en route to Greenwich for further festivities. Enormous Christmas lunch is consumed, Isaac learns his first magic trick from OIiver. We sit by the fire and make a pirate ship. No-one has norovirus (this is a first) and we are having so much fun I don’t even watch Downton Abbey.

Boxing Day. Greenwich park. Oscar and I take a wrong turning and end up walking up some very steep hills, past Queen Elizabeth’s oak. It feels good to have his little paw in mine and better to have him on my shoulders. Strong legs, strong legs.

Betwixtmas: Feeling warm in the company of people I have known for half a lifetime. My urban family, my funny friends, all grown up. I look through old photos and see us young and wearing hi-shine tops and heeley boots in the college bar and feel so glad to have them here.

New Year: Big skies and Suffolk sea with the North-Ginsbergs. Eating like I know the half-life sickness is coming: home-cured side of salmon, rib of beef, vacherin, curry, Jenny’s patented crispy duck. A solitary wet and cold walk on the beach where I feel the wind holding me up and propelling me along, beside a raging sea. The next day, blue skies, calm seas, a bit of warmth in the air. Three little boys follow me around a wild wood and down to the beach where we dash in and out of the waves and don’t even mind if our socks get wet.

5 Comments

Leave a Comment
  1. Jenny / Jan 5 2013 9:09 pm

    Always thought you were mad to iron sheets. See you still are. I’ll be making that duck til you’re all sick of it and secretly wishing I would stop. Xxx

  2. Caroline Al Shammas / Jan 6 2013 5:53 am

    Happy and Healthy New Year lovely, and to the family too. Thanks for this blog, it is a way to feel somehow connected to what you are experiencing, even all these miles and lands away. So sad to have missed Urban Family again but see you very very soon xx

    • kateelisabethgross / Jan 6 2013 10:29 pm

      We missed you too, lion-o x

  3. Annie Gibson / Jan 6 2013 2:41 pm

    That was such a beautiful blog Kate. Isaac and Oscar looked so adorable on christmas night. See you all soon Love Anne marie xx

  4. Tracey / Jan 6 2013 9:04 pm

    What a gorgeous, twinkling Christmas! Just the kind I always dream of, and usually have (albeit in snippets – I splice away the bits where it takes too long to get everyone and everything in the car to descend on my family and I get grumpy, or the bits where someone’s child is nipping down from the table every five minutes for a drink, which then gets spilt, of course). Suffolk must have been lovely. We got whipped by the wind on the Norfolk coast, and dampened by the drizzle on the beach, but the children still rolled down wet sand dunes and covered our cars in fine sand. Molly made a Christmas tree sandcastle with her hands and covered it with spent glow-sticks she found on the beach post-NYDay (oh so creative). A local panto on the 27th which was surprisingly good, although we should really have gone before Christmas as it was all a bit Christmas-evey (bit confusing having Santa there after he’s delivered his goodies). But lovely all the same.

    Keep remembering these happy times, there’ll be plenty more.

    xxxx

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: