The best of times, the worst of times

 We have just returned to New York from our long break in Europe, comprising a full month in Portugal followed by a week ion Italy. I feel so thankful that we were able to take and enjoy this time, considering how often cancer sufferers become unfit for travel at earlier stages of the disease. But I also wept more during this period than at any stage in my life, perhaps with the exception of the weeks around the dissolution of my first marriage. The weeping has even continued during the first days back in the USA. Emotions are running high, eben without the artificial stimulant of steroids.

 

It took me the first tearful week in Portugal to work out why I was so emotional. I concluded that I was mourning for the future that we aspired to and now can no longer anticipate.

 

In so many ways, the spell in Europe encapsulated the life I dreamed of leading during the upcoming decades. I immediately felt comfortable and relaxed in the villa, and by some miracle all nausea dropped away immediately. The pool was perfect and we swam, every morning, most days after a long walk by the sea on the boardwalk and the beach itself. We visited all our favourite restaurants and some lovely new ones. Even my appetite returned to its pre-chemo normal level. For months I could not face a US yoghurt, but the Oikos ones in Portugal were immediately appealing.

 

Even more precious than all of this was the company of loved ones. I have never felt closer to my wife, and we greeted eight close and dear relatives during our stay, enjoying every moment of their company. We also connected with dear friends and neighbours, a joy that had developed during the pandemic and would surely become stronger if and when we moved to Portugal permanently. We did not feel the need to travel around much, but we did enjoy one long-delayed trip to the historic city of Evora.

 

So in many ways our time in Portugal was idyllic, and then came our week in Italy to round off the visit in style. We met old friends in Bologna and closed out the visit with some tourism in Milan, and in between came hours of singing beautiful music with great and talented company in perfect surroundings. I found that I can still sing almost as well as before, and there was pure joy in reconnecting with so many old friends and to make new ones too.

 

I first went on one of these singing courses in 2009 and was immediately enraptured, and thrilled when my wife was able to join and be confident enough to sing. We fully intended to embrace more and more courses once back in Europe, and I even had a dream of becoming involved in the organisation and further development of the concept. This past week I was thrilled to notice that some of the ideas I have previously proposed were taken up by others organically – an after-party is surely a good idea.

 

So there was a lot about this trip that was truly wonderful and we are so blessed to have had the chance to enjoy it while in relatively good health. It was surely the best of times. But why also the worst? That has to come back to all of those tears.

 

I do think that a theme of this visit was mourning our lost anticipated future. We knew that there were no guarantees, but we did hope that we could enjoy many years together relaxing in Portugal, spending time with family and friends, travelling and enjoying hobbies like singing with friends. That is exactly what we have been able to do over the last six weeks, but we know we cannot expect the experience to be repeated very many times, if any. True, we can and should be thankful, and true too, we should try to spend as much time as we can anchored in the present, but I do think that some mourning is reasonable, and even beneficial as a potential route to greater acceptance of our new reality.

 

We also took many practical steps during the visit to prepare for the future for my family. We transferred ownership of the shares for the villa and closed down my personal company that had been the vehicle for managing the rental of the villa. We had healthy conversations, especially involving my wife and daughter, about how things can work in the future and how the family can cooperate to the benefit of everyone. I am delighted that we seemed to agree about most things and made good progress. There are still open questions about upgrading the villa, but these can be resolved in good times. Completing all this administration led to some stress and forced us to face the future more overtly, so some tears were probably inevitable.

 

I believe that the worst part about facing a foreshortened life are the goodbyes. This trip involved many goodbyes. It even involved some creation of legacy in the form of time with my young granddaughter and a professional photoshoot. I fully approve of why my daughter arranged these things. Still, they generate many tears, as we all reflect on the possibility that the goodbyes may turn out to be final ones.

 

We are in a phase where we dare to hope and to make tentative plans for the future, even if our time horizon remains much shorter than it used to be. We have to constantly balance hope with readiness and to include many contingencies in our plans, but overall we are blessed that my health has remained strong enough to warrant a somewhat hopeful approach. Even so, one slightly surprising outcome from this trip, and one that has led to more tears, is a series of reminders that even a hopeful future must involve limitations.

 

The trip made it abundantly plain that I have to be more cautious in my travel ambitions. Even trouble-free travel days left me tired and placed a massive burden on my wife, especially since she is likely to have to do most or all of the driving for some time to come. Our shared capacity to deal with challenges while travelling is reduced. We can hope and even plan to travel in the future, but we must take steps to remove some risks and to keep things simple.

 

Then we should not be surprised at all that a new health complication arose while we were away from the US. Twice I suffered from what appears to be an acute vertigo, which may or may not be a side-effect of the chemo medication. We have to expect these things, prepare for them if at all possible, and minimise the risks involved. Surely we were a little reckless by enjoying a full steak dinner with plenty of wine during a course of chemo pills. The outcome was one I fully deserved and is a good warning for the future.

 

While tearfully suffering the effects of vertigo, fearful of what could be about to happen and of what the new symptom may portend, I also reminded myself of another key lesson. When the attacks happened I felt alone and a long way from home. My salvation was the comfort derived from having my loving wife beside me. I don’t want to spend much of my remaining time on this earth separated from that precious love.

 

So the tears shed during the weeks surrounding this trip have had many causes, but overall they have done more good than harm and they have brought me closer than ever to my wife, and to my family. They have reminded us of valuable lessons and taught us a few new ones. They have allowed us both to make progress on our parallel journeys of grief. And they have not led us to abandon hope, only to indicate some caution in the future.

 

Does this make the trip the worst of times? Certainly not, despite all the goodbyes and reminders and tears. It feels closer to the best of times, a blessing to treasure and to be forever thankful for. I am lucky to have had the opportunity, and even hope of similar trips into the future. For this I owe thanks to my doctors, my family, my friends in Portugal and Italy, and most of all to my wife.