Movement

Midnight. Through the bedroom window the moon is hidden but the long strips of cloud moving across the sky are back-lit with cool silver. In the distance a car speeds by and across the black fields the river flows on alone and silent. The world turns and when I awake it is still dark. The first train of the day rumbles its way north while I watch Jupiter descend towards the horizon, ice-bright and as fiery and pure as a diamond. The rising sun and a rhythmic swish of wings of a flight of geese and high above a speck of a plane leaves a solitary vapour trail.

Notes

The grassy square opposite the house is strewn with fallen leaves, innumerable shades of yellow and ochre. In the late afternoon sun a little boy - fair hair, bright red jumper - pushes an equally bright red bicycle through the leaves. The bike is a bit too heavy for him to control and he swerves from side to side as he makes his way home, his small body consumed with effort and concentration.

****

Guarded forays into the outside world - no more than one a day followed by rest - but so much time is spent on my own. Reading. Watching TV. Surfing the internet. (TV has tended to take over when pain levels are up; at such times escapism and distraction rule). These days the recovery consists of small spurts of progress followed by consolidation. Energy levels are still horribly low so graded but regular exercise (important not to miss a day), a good diet and fresh air, along with fortnightly cranial osteopathy sessions, are what is needed. I can't speak too highly of cranial osteopathy and of my practitioner. It has saved me.

So hard to focus, to formulate ideas, to string thoughts together. If my ego were writing the script I would have used the past two years to produce a first novel or learn another language or read the complete Russian classics. What a joke. Such achievements as there have been seem pretty paltry from the outside but that's not what this period has been about, not at all. It's been about survival, being stripped back to the core.

****

The cat's blood test results are in. The problem doesn't seem to be kidneys as I had feared. Instead one of his liver readings is higher than normal, plus he has lost a small but noticeable amount of weight over the last three months. These symptoms could point to something ominous or they could simply be a consequence of his age. Vet's advice: bring him in for regular weigh-ins every three weeks or so. If he continues to lose weight then another blood test to clarify exactly what is going on.

Meanwhile he's happy. Eating, sleeping, purring. To be honest my instinct is to leave him in peace.

October

A heavy, warm rain. The horse chestnuts have turned a gold-brown though the silver birch, apart from the odd yellow leaf, remains stalwartly green, resisting the steady march towards winter. In the next few days I'll phone the gardener to arrange for the final tidying up session of the season. Lavender to cut back, ditto lemon balm. Lawn to mow. The dying laurel bush to be despatched.

****

A nervous week. The cat - already on a special renal diet - started drinking more water than usual. A while ago I was warned by the vet that this could be a sign that the feline Grim Reaper is sharpening his scythe. In the last 24 hours the drinking has diminished but to be on the safe side we are taking him in for blood tests. A friend has been roped in for assistance - at 5+ kilos he is far too heavy for me to carry at the moment.

We've had these scares before but I'm aware of the fleetingness of life, even for one seemingly so resilient. When the time does come - be it next week, next month or next year - it will be very hard without him.

On the fence

Seventeen years old and for me each day counts. This was taken two or three years ago and the back legs are creakier now, so he stays earth-bound for the most part. But he still purrs loud and long and the sweetness of nature is unchanged.

Infrastructure

It's about very slowly claiming back bite-sized chunks of former independence. On the forays into the outside world, asking the taxi driver to stop at the ATM machine, getting out and withdrawing the cash myself rather than begging someone else to do it. Ditto letters at the letter box.

And also:

Changing the sheets
Hanging out the washing
Dusting
Rearranging pictures
Upping the distance of the daily walks

Progress. Exhilarating and frightening at the same time. Hope feels dangerous.

But there are helpers, of course there are. A cleaning lady every two weeks, and a gardener/handyman for whenever the lawn runs rampant. In both cases compatability has been key. Can't be doing with someone I'm uncomfortable with; isolation and pain have upped the sensitivity. These two are friendly and non-pushy. The cleaning lady's husband is also my plumber. He charges reasonable rates and (oh so important) is willing to turn out at short notice.

The gardener and his brother-in-law, the roofer, were here this past weekend. Guttering and loose tiles fixed. Apparently there were two holes in the roof - a result probably of the harsh conditions of last winter. Truly glad I didn't know this. In addition my neighbour has replaced the dilapidated fence that separated our two properties. Strong south-west winds are common and I would guess the fence only remained upright thanks to some wonderfully tenacious ivy.

I'm praying, crossing my fingers, that feng shui practitioners have got it right, that mending and adjusting the space where we live does affect the person who lives there. That as the roof is fixed and the gutters are cleared, as the floor is mopped and the garden weeded, as boundaries are strengthened, so healing on some level or another is happening. And I do - kind of - believe it.

Back

After such a period of silence, after so much pain, a glimmering of light. The understanding that not yet but sometime I will inch my way back into the world. The extraordinary world of people and independence and buying your own groceries and posting your own letters. The world of walking. The world that isn't limited by four walls.

Still feeling unformed, semi-transparent, I've almost forgotten how to write. So I piece together word after word. Impossible to explain what has happened and no real need. Just now and again, when I can, I want to leave a mark here.