A seasoned self isolator

 having spent many a week or two or more in hospital I'm very used to my life suddenly reducing to the size of a small room, ward, hospital. 

I know the joy of stepping out and away. I've done it 8 times, not all VHL related but all important. There are the ones that hold real significance, the first one was following the same operation my brother had, he never walked again, he left in a box. That meant so much, driving back along the familiar roads from Cambridge to Norfolk, knowing my fate was different and not really knowing how I would use such responsibility. 

The next was a trip to an MRI scanner, as we approached the lift, my body too weak to make the short journey by foot, I was suddenly overtaken by an overwhelming sense of survival, renewed hope and joy and I cried. 

The last time, there were two moments, the first was breathing in the cold fresh air of central London, having been in an airconditioned and temperature controlled environment for over a month. The darkness was so welcome, a lack of the electric light, the sounds of traffic and people not there to care for you.  And then walking through my front door and into the arms of my daughter, the hug of my life, the sheer relief gushed from me, I shuddered with it, unable to contain the waves of release, of another day I've survived, I wonder if that's what returning from war feels like.  

Considering all that my two weeks in my home self isolating because I'm infectious to others and fine in myself seems like a non-memory. I'm home, I'm working and I have a beautiful garden. One week to go and the first place I'll go to will be the test centre - just in case. Then I suspect my next stop will be the office!