So, after a particularly dismal winter – even by Scottish standards, we had so many back to back days of grey clouds and rain that even the brief winter daytime was dark – spring is starting to bloom here. Still cold in mornings and evenings, or in the shade, but when the golden light comes out, it’s gorgeous, it’s warm, and the colours of vibrant flowers glow in that light like life itself, such a welcome sight after the winter months.



However, the great turning of the seasonal wheel has, for me at least, also brought some bads news. Actually pretty awful news. My doctor noticed some anomalies in recent blood tests and wanted to investigate, and set me up for some sample tests and the dreaded camera going where no camera has ever gone before. He suspected something like a bleeding ulcer causing blood and iron loss. It wasn’t. It was cancer.
That’s not something you want to hear a medical team tell you. I knew before they spoke, to be honest. After getting dressed I met the team who examined me in a room, and they all had their heads down looking at their papers, and I knew from the body language it was bad news, and so it was. Shock and fear does not begin to cover being told you have cancer, that your body’s own cells are betraying you right as you sit there hearing the news. Worse still, I had to tell my father this news, which felt almost as bad as being given the damned news. How do you tell the people you love that you have cancer? I would love to spare them the worry, but I can’t hide this, and they have a right to know, but it still felt awful, as if I was unloading this horror onto them.
The NHS stepped into high gear, organising more scans as quickly as possible to get a better picture of what was happening inside me. The wait for results was nerve-wracking, as I literally had no idea how bad it could be until they told me. I found myself literally shaking just before my oncology appointment. I’ve been scared before, who hasn’t? But I have never had fear shakes, until now. I am cutting myself some slack as I think that was pretty understandable; I literally had no idea what they were going to tell me, was it curable or was I going to be condemned to a slow, horrible decline and death? You’re trying to stay positive, but your mind is thinking of all the worst case scenarios, and the dreadful fact is you simply don’t know until they have the results, you are in a limbo.
Long story short, they found it before it spread my organs, so it is treatable. I am going for major surgery imminently. They can’t be certain if that will be enough, or if I may require chemo later. I am praying not, because I have had people I love go through that, and it is brutal, and the idea of enduring major surgery just to find I need even more, harsher treatment is so unfair and scary I don’t know where to start. But it may not come to that, and one thing at a time.
I’ve had so much warm love and support from my family and my friends – my lovely wee bookshop family have been so protective of me. Pain and discomfort have been growing in the last couple of weeks, which is putting me in the “just get this over and fixed, please” zone, trumping the fear of surgery. But it is still damned scary, in fact it is bloody terrifyng. And this is a situation so many people will find themselves in. We all know people we love who have been through similar. Scary as it is, the main thing is they think this is treatable.

(walking Princes Street Gardens in spring light)

(The Ross Fountain in full spray – frozen solid just a few weeks back, now back to delighting visitors)
So, before I go dark for a few days, I am taking some moments to post about this on here, but also to share some photos of my gorgeous Edinburgh in spring sunight, the Earth renewing itself for a new season, and I am taking that renewal of life as a good omen for me (and I need those right now), and because I wanted to post something beautiful against all the personal horror I’m enduring right now, and the collective horror our entire world seems to be going through right now, to remind us all there is still magic and beauty and we need to pause and drink it in and cherish it, and let that light fill us so the darkness never wins. Easier said than done, I know, but we have to.
I hope to be recovered enough in a few weeks in time for the cherry blossoms to come out so I can take more photos of them again. I will walk under that avenue of sakura in the Meadows with my friends with the blossoms falling around us. I will. And I will share those photos as I always do.

