It is 5 years since C made its presence known and compared to the early days it’s voice is quieter -less shouty and bullying. When in hospital and throughout my recovery I wore a cardigan – the same one. It kept me warm even when I wasn’t cold. It was there.
Perhaps it was my comforter. Comforters can take on a magical almost lifelike quality the removal of which can lead to tears and tantrums. In such circumstances reasoning is useless. The narrative between the comforted and the comforter is exclusive and mysterious.
My relationship to and with cancer went and goes beyond words. The matter of factness of a diagnosis shaped by well-chosen words and primitive diagrams did not penetrate the cardigan. The cardigan muffled the sound and repelled the vibrations. Don’t get me wrong, it was no magical cardigan- it just happened to be there with me, absorbing and trying to hold back reality.
I still have the cardigan – I still wear it. In the early days it felt heavy with C. Words, smells, moods and emotions clung to it. Every suffocating stitch heavy with unwelcome patterns. The number of stitches remain the same but the cardigan seems lighter – more friendly – inviting me to wear it with a whisper or waving to me as I go about my business.