2. Why I am lucky.

Christmas approaches and I shall be warm and dry in bed while others are out in the cold looking for Christmas gifts and buying food. This year I shall dream away while other people get stressed. Do I feel selfish? No. Is this lucky? Yes.
It’s lucky not because I’m lazy and uncaring and don’t want to make Christmas ‘special’ for others. I am not being ‘dog in the manger’ (never quite sure what it means but seems appropriately seasonal) , nor making a one-woman protest against the great conspiracy that women are the default project managers of Christmas. (Pedants note*: I didn’t slip up and muddle my mangers with my managers).
I’m lucky because I am recovering from a final operation as part of my treatment for breast cancer, details of which will emerge in time.
I’m lucky because I’m here as in I’m here in life and have the rest of my life in front of me. I’m lucky because this is nearly the end of my treatment. I’m lucky that it’s likely to be over before the end of 2011 and I can look ahead at the start of 2012 to appreciating my life and living it to the max. Not that I didn’t do that before, but there’s always room for improvement.
I’m lucky that I have a loving family who’ll do the Christmas slog by and large so I don’t have to. I’m lucky that my children are in their teens and can do most things for themselves and might just do a bit for me too. Cups of tea made by your children taste so good, don’t they? I think they should include an instruction on the tea bag box: for best results and enhanced flavour, use a teapot, or alternatively, a teenager. Wouldn’t it be most refreshing to see a “Serving Suggestion” picture of a sixteen year old boy making tea instead of the dull pictures tea manufacturers impose on us, even if they did need to state “Teenager not included” to avoid a sudden dip in sales.
I’m lucky to have some wonderful friends who remember my key hospital dates and text me encouraging messages, who post instantly on Facebook when I give them just the briefest inkling of where I’m up to with this cancer story, who buy me ‘slinky’ pyjamas, cute nighties, flowers, lunch out when I’m feeling better, who drive me to pleasant places for the essential walks to get fit and healthy again. Friends whose colourful get-well cards adorn the shelves and nestle in amongst the bouquets of flowers.
Lucky to have the memory of loved ones’ voices whisper in my head as the needles go in. Lucky to have prayers in m heart as I slide out of consciousness.

Are you starting to see what makes us lucky? And this is just the beginning.

• Pedants note. Please note this is the imperative so no apostrophe required.