Sunday 22 July

Sunday 22 July was the last day I had a day with no pain. I had experienced pain before this point, and I definitely experienced it afterwards, but Sunday 22 July marks the last day I thought that there was nothing wrong with my body and me.

I remember this day, because it was my perfect London Day. I may have romanticised it in my head. In fact, I know I definitely have. The city was in a pre-Olympic buzz, or maybe it was just me because I had seen the torch the day before, and the sun was shining.

I started the day with a walk through the City, which is delightful on a weekend, accompanied by the lovely George. We walked to the Shard via the Gherkin, then somewhat ironically, visited
St Thomas’ Hospital and literally spent a penny, went to a museum and ended up having a late lunch on the Southbank. This was all on foot. Ah walking, how I miss thee. Ah the Southbank, I miss you, longtime.

I am not sure why I started thinking about this today; maybe it is because I have also romanticised the being that is George, because amongst other things, he is kindly accompanying me to the cinema later.

After I left George on 22 July, I ventured to a small park just off Oxford Street and sat in the sun, on the ground, with my friend Charlotte and talked about being content with our lives. Again, I may have romanticised this too, because if I try really, really hard, I do recall talking about how I longed for progression in my job and also my frustration with relationships. That stuff is not important now (not really). I also mentioned the pain I had been in and how it was getting better. Fool. Looking back on this hour or so meeting, I can tell you that it was lush. Actually lush. Everything was so… Easy.

As evening drew in, en route home, I stopped off for a drink with some other friends, I collectively call them GMD, and I specifically recall talking about how I had had a fabulous Sunday. I even took photographs to document my happy day.

On the 22 July, I was happy and I did not have a real care in the world. I am sure I thought I did, but My Myeloma blew them straight out the water. The following night, the pain came back tenfold. But right now, I think I am allowed to romanticise that day, Sunday 22 July, and how I felt, because I know that I will experience that again one day, it’s just going to take a while… Not a care in the world.

George took this photo of me on that, now, very special day. It was taken in a graveyard. Go figure.


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