Fast Forward?

There's a short story by the Argentinian writer Jorges Lui Borges called "The Secret Miracle", set in wartime Prague. A Jewish writer, condemned to die, asks God for a year to finish the play that he's writing. As he stands before the firing squad, time in the physical world comes to a halt but not in his thoughts. Eventually he realises that his prayer has been granted - a whole year passes in his mind, and he manages to finish the play - before his last moment comes.

Like much in Borges, the circumstances in the story are a veneer of realism that hides a deeper musing. Since Jen's diagnosis, we've felt that our life is stuck on fast forward, that important events are rushing upon us everyday. With the uncertainty about how much time Jen has left, there's a natural desire to want to pack as much intensity as possible into every day, to seize every moment. Of course in practice that's hard to sustain , since we are also trying to keep normal life going with less energy and more demands upon us. Also, there's a natural pace that can't really be forced - for our kids this is now normal life, and we can't make them invest each day we have together with any more significance.

The sustainable change for us has been in priorities. We have less time, and so we have to choose more wisely how to spend it. In my job, I've cut down on evening work (which happened in a few bursts last year) and travel where possible, so Jen and I can enjoy more evenings. Of course some of that time is taken up with reading medical information - and blogging! Post-chemo and post-surgery, our current plan is to have an extended family holiday in the middle of the year.

The other "acceleration" in our life has been the immense concern and (usually) care that's come from our family and friends. It's as though all the friendships we have had with people, even those in which we had drifted away over time, are now being concentrated again into this present moment. We both want to say thank you again to so many people who have sent cards, written emails and rung us up. One friend has unfailing given Jen a special photograph, with a matching quotation, and a flower, for every chemo session that she's had. Another friend sent us a recording of some songs that she'd written. Many people have supplied meals, which have been tremendously useful, especially in Jen's "bad" chemo weeks when we collectively have much less time and energy for daily life. All manner of other practical support has come in unexpectedly, and many of you have made an effort to visit or keep in touch.

We are so grateful for that care, and often feel guilty that we don't have the energy (or sometimes just the organisation) to thank each person. The other reality is that even in a normally busy life, one can only maintain a handful of close relationships, and I'm conscious that we're not managing to stay in good contact with many people at the moment, except in short bursts. I hope blogging fills some of the gap, so at least you know a little of what's happening to us. But it's not symmetric - we feel out of touch with the lives of many of our friends (more than usual). So don't hesitate to send us messages or ring up to chat - even if we won't always be able to answer every time.