Life goes all weird and strange when a beloved elder is seriously ill. I still go to work every day, but nowadays most of the office mail gets posted in the postbox outside Antrim Area Hospital. It's not easy reaching the box as I have to push past hordes of smoking patients in fluffy dressing gowns and teddy bear pyjamas. It's an odd sight to see a young, heavily pregnant woman attached to a drip stand, standing out the front of the hossie with a fag in her gob.
Yesterday Matty took a great rally after receiving the news that her cancer hadn't attached itself to her spine. Today she is tired and weary again. Before this, I used to get irritated when I heard people speak of 'fighting' or 'battling' cancer. I could not get my head around that at all. It's a disease, it runs a course. But now I have actually seen and experienced my mother fighting hard not to let the illness beat her down. And mostly she has been succeeding. I understand better now. Except, just now, she seems a little battle-weary. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
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