Talking in the past tense

“The writing prompt is: it’s raining you are not at home. Go!” We were sitting in deep shade in a leafy garden in Saxonwold at the first meeting of a local writers group that I’d attended. Without thinking I began to write about the first thing that popped into my brain.

Guerrilla teachers

The ceiling of the meeting room is low and, although its adequate, I can’t help wishing the lights would be brighter. It’s familiar, this room – not from our cancer journey – but from my corporate life before cancer started. It’s a well-appointed meeting room in...

What would you attempt if you knew you would fail?

I wonder what it must take to wake up each day knowing that the odds are against you. That you will fail. And fail in a way where lives will be lost? What must it be like to spend your days with people who are in pain? Who are scared? Who are at their worst? Who are filled with the anguish and anger and blame of facing their mortality? What must it be like to know all this and to do the job anyway?

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch

The phrase don’t count your chickens before they hatch, is playing on repeat.

The terrifying, hopeful, standing-on-the cliff-edge thing is that Josh seems to be getting better.

How Comic Con fought cancer

There’s a sense of walking into giant playroom where the kid who owns all the good stuff is excited that you want to come and play.

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