“Every Day Above the Ground’s a Good One”

Someone actually said this to me today. A Jamaican guy behind the till at Ryman’s in Richmond. I’d heard him charming each customer with his positive banter and when it was my turn I told him I had been appreciating it. I’ve never been one to filter what is going through my head much. I say it as I feel it. The psychiatrist says it’s my ADHD but I say it’s part of being alive. To respond to a human as a human. I asked how his day had been. “Every good day above the ground is a good day!” he proclaims. I am suddenly British and a bit taken aback given my circumstances. He sees me falter and explains that where he grew up this was meant much more literally. I tell him I have terminal cancer and I know exactly what he means. It’s the first time I have said that phrase out loud and it feels strangely bold coming out of my mouth. Like I have made a lead shaped egg, regurgitated it and plopped it on the counter. He doesn’t miss a beat, shakes my hand and laughs. When you know you know. In the parallel universe that I stepped into on January 30th such encounters have become normal. People who’ve been through troubles, dogs, cats and babies seem drawn to me (I know it sounds odd but I am connecting differently on some kind of energetic level with intuitive creatures. They sneak up on me and we offer each other comfort and energy).

feeling chipper having made it back to my jazz performance class at the Richmond Adult Community College. Every Saturday so far this term has coincided with a biopsy or PET scan or recovery. There are some new people in the class and I don’t know them so well so I hadn’t seen the point in sharing my news and lbringing a heavy atmosphere. But it has already got to the point where I don’t feel I can stand for a long warm up and I am coughing a lot so I told them. I’ll keep going until I can’t. I used to perform more and I want to do a fundraiser gig with friends and it really does my soul good to sing the blues. Adult education is such a beautiful thing. You come together with strangers. It’s supportive and non competitive. And I love to hear the full range of expression of the human voice. Even those who don’t think they can sing express something unique to their soul when the voice opens up and I find it really moving to sit and listen with my eyes closed. I am hoping they don’t think I am just asleep and I have developed a real resting bitch face as I get older so I try to smile as I listen (and not drop off or worse, snore).

I had an hour or so to kill before heading to my teacher’s jazz gig on the Kings Rd. A big day for me energetically so I planned a long cafe stop to read my PhD en route. I’ve been managing m my fatigue a while but suddenly my body screams at me when it’s too much and I get places and worry I won’t make it back. No high heels, no heavy bags and going slowly usually does the trick but then I remember I am 51 and this sucks. I should not be having to think like this. The gig is pretty special. At the Pheasantry which I had booked for April to do my own gig but had to let go due to circumstances. It’ll happen.

Last night I decamped to the family bonsai farm with my dad to hideaway for 48 hours to cram. On Wednesday morning, dear reader, in the middle of this shit show, I have my final PhD viva. It seems unreasonable doesn’t it but I hurried it along. No way I am not finishing this m*#€}}f*cker after five years of slog. Reengaging my brain and facing this down has taken some grit I tell you. I feel like I’m in that scene in a movie where someone gets injured in the wild and they have to operate without sedation all the while shouting ‘goddam it just chop my damn leg off, arrghhmmphhhh!!!!’. All the while foaming at the mouth and biting down on a piece of dirty rag. That’ll be me. In the Royal Holloway boardroom on a Wednesday morning. It’ll get the conversation going at least

The funny thing is I was terrified of this day finally arriving until I had my recent diagnosis. Now I’m literally not scared of anything – apart from harm being inflicted on my nearest and dearest – for what is left to fear? Nevertheless I want to honour the occasion by giving it my very best so I am digging deep amongst the bonsais reading my own magnum opus in the chilly sunshine. Wondering what it was all about but quite proud of what I have achieved over nearly 100,000 words. It’s on creative clusters and inclusive innovation if you really want to know. Will my examiners be kind and see that this old gal is no spring chicken at the start of her career raring to go and publish three papers out of it? Can they see I just want to put it to bed and be done? I only climbed the damn PhD mountain because it was there saying ‘climb me’ and I had nothing better to do. Do I really need to say I may not have the time or energy for corrections? Can I play the cancer card?

I’ve met a lot of celebrities in my career and am generally unimpressed but these academics are my celebs and I’m a proper fan girl of these two. I’m worried I may gush. I had to veto Angela McRobbie in case I became dumbstruck in a flurry of 90s feminist awe. We’ll see. I’ll try and control myself. I am just looking forward to meeting them and having a good old chat. And then maybe we’ll go for a drink when it’s all over. I have, on the whole, stopped drinking but come Wednesday afternoon, as Joni Mitchell once sang ‘if you want me I’ll be in the bar.’