Today, I am sitting on the hardwood floor, in our lounge room. My body feels pretty normal. My neck aches a little, my tummy is full of dinner, my mouth tastes nicely, of the drink I just gulped. I am weary from a day of work, and the transition of coming home to my beautiful, energetic, noisy children. Benjamin is cycling home in the darkness. I am always happier when everyone is safely home. My biggest fear is one of my loved ones dying. Oh, and I have lymphoma, stage four. What does this even mean? I'm just me. Mortal, but that is in the one-day-far-away category, isn't it? The doctor, bizarrely, told me there are a lot of little lymphomae, tripping around my lymph system, like jiggling jelly-fish in a warm sea. Some of them have twisted all together, left of my belly-button, and I can feel them. An 8cm x 5cm mobile mass, says the computerised tomography report. I can feel lumps in my neck and groin, and can imagine these funny little lymphomae, dancing around
here! Ah! Laurel, who is much more tech savvy than I, managed to transport the picture. And another element of my un-tech-savvy-ness is the fact that this whole band of text is now the link to the picture which you don't actually need a link to. There is a great divide, in time and in paradigm, between those for whom computers are intuitive - Laurel, Eowyn, Coco, Benjamin, Tom, Rachel, Seren, Sam ... and those like me, for whom they're not. Where do you fall (and for those I listed, did I get you right?)
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