Good bye 2017

You've been a strange year.
In 2017 I've been at an all time emotional low and felt like my life was destined to be rotten. That I was rotten.
And I'm about to host a party where over 30 people I didn't even know 5 months ago are coming to celebrate moving into 2018.
Who knows what the next year will bring but this year has proven I am a warrior.

Happy New Year.

Hugs

My husband and I binge watched a harrowing TV series this week. In it hugs were mentioned, used and perceived in various ways. It had to be deliberate. A hug, so innocent and powerful, and creepy.
It's only a few years old but already dated.
Hugs for boys and hugs for girls.
Hugs for comfort.
Hugs for memory.
Hugs for plot.

And as I watched, crying silently and feeling the closeness of grief my husband asked why I watch if it makes me depressed.
"It doesn't make me depressed."
"Wrong word."
"It pulls up the saddnes. I feel sad."
And a moment of truth sounded.
"I'm this close to saddnes all the time."
And unsaid... That's why I have to keep busy, that's why this helps. It's controlled.

And the hugs got to me. And another penny dropped.

My dad can't hug me. I don't remember the last time we did and when he could.
We hug him. Gently and carefully because it can physically hurt him. This fucking disease has stopped my hugs with my dad.

My boys

How do you write about them?
My boys, the ones who got mixed up in it all.
One definitely missing and one definitely dead. My boys.
I wish I was still able to try and be part of a solution. But what a joke. I've got more chance of saving Malawi.
I think of them and I worry about them.
Here I can do nothing.
My boys.

The email

Dear hammer legends and woe defeaters 

I wrote to you about 18 months ago thanking you for being part of what saved me from the horrible tedium of my hospital stay which preceded having a rather nasty brain tumour and troublesome cyst removed. That was when I became a PCD. It was my husband who put them on the tablet and while I lay in deep fear and the unknown you helped me. It's hard to explain how unpleasant the experience was and I have had a few hospital stays in my time due to the disease (VHL) responsible for the brain tumour in the first place. My then 8 year old daughter and ever strong husband must have been to hell and back but we all fought the good fight and thanks to the amazing NHS and the team around me I survived. Elis you replied and that was so kind of you, partly you were inspired by the odd chat you and my husband had had a test gig of yours about politics. 

Naturally the story continues, the return to work following such a difficult surgery was okay at first but, despite being used to the hideousness of VHL, this one shook me. As always my husband did what he could, being there, reassuring me, putting up with my lows, doing things like booking us tickets to your gigs as he knew it would cheer me up, it was then that I had my first real understanding of darkness I had heard you and many listeners experiences. Being a practical sort, I started seeing a psychotherapist, I almost started anti-depressants (they didn't work for me) but what really changed and the reason I'm writing to you again is that one morning, while sitting in tears, trying to find the strength to get up and get on with the day my husband changed our lives. He made a decision for us, all three of us to live our best life and stop the cycle we were all in that meant we were miserable. He held me and said, 'that's it we're moving abroad.' 

And so after CV writing, job applications, skype interviews, house renting out, resignations, freight filling and emotional farewells I am writing to you from Malawi. I am back to being a drama teacher, absolutely loving it. My little family is spending more time together, less stress and the darkness and nagging anxiety I couldn't shift before doesn't get much chance to infiltrate the overall sense of calm and happiness I feel. 

I know you won't be able to read all this out, but I wonder if on the podcast you could give a shout-out to your PCDs in Malawi (You definitely have 3, my daughter is 10 now and she thinks you and Adam Buxton are the best) and if you do, could you let my husband know he is the most amazing partner who has saved me by ensuring we are all living our best life and that I love him and appreciate and value everything he has done and continues to do.

Thank you for the honest and fun radio, I'm always delighted when I hear you're doing drive time. 

Swimming with the sound of hippopotamus

I've never had a December like it. Today I'm living my life.
And I have been as much as I can for as long as I knew I had to.

It is a sensational mix of the glorious and terrible. It's easy to forget the abject poverty around you and get on with it. That's not a good thing but it is a thing. 

Christmas in the rainy season

The images from home are full of snow and here we are in the rainy season. A huge contrast and reminded me of the contrast in my Christmas last year too.
The darkness of life a year ago was not being covered with a layer of snow. It was cold and grim.
It's not perfect here but it is so much better. It's brighter and we're all happier.
I've made a couple of real friends here already. Proper ones who are mine now. They are on my list.
One of them just gets me and last night gave me just what I needed. A shoulder and a stern reality check. She gave me the strength to get up and get on.
I'm so lucky. To travel this far away from home is a risk and I miss my friends so much at times. To have made a new one here that I know will help me and I'll help her is wonderful.
Phew.

In a show

I'm in a pantomime. I'll up date you!