The illness came too

Christmas 2013 came and went.  It was as good as it could be.  This year has been somewhat eventful for my family and I.  

Illness has descended and taken us in its unflinching grips. It has hijacked the life of someone for whom I care deeply, progressively robbing it of so much of the pleasure and joy we used to share.  

To say that I have been feeling angry is a gross understatement.  I am in battle with an invisible opponent who arrives at the least opportune moments consuming that which is most precious to us:  time.  

Terminal illness is a sentence - not only for the individual diagnosed, but for those of us who are similarly tried and tested, watching and waiting, anticipating our wretched powerlessness.

We got away as we had planned to.  We pulled out all the stops and made it happen.  

But the illness came too...  The chronic condition is relentless and lacks any respect for the festive season.  There is no such thing as a holiday.  But every moment is important. And we enjoyed moments I will, I know, come to treasure. We made sure to make memories.    

December is a strange month.  And none so strange as this.  In the same week as I received confirmation that I have attained another Masters level qualification, a hospital bed was delivered and Morphine was prescribed by the palliative care team at the Hospice whose care we have the privilege to receive.  For Christmas, a great friend gave me a bag of M&Ms.