Have you ever seen one of those mini-libraries in your neighborhood? They resemble a bird feeder pole, but with a little door. Reader feeder poles 🙂.
This one contains a fresh, attractive, cheerful, alluring and particularly upbeat book with large bold letters. Almost a bit too fancy for what it’s about: ‘How to make the most of your life after that hopeless diagnosis’. Between you and me: you shouldn’t forget to make the most of your life as it was before your hopeless diagnosis either. You spent many, many years diagnosis-free. And those years brought you a lot: a family, friends, love, loss, sadness and joy.
I’m guessing that this book on how to deal with the future overlooks the gifts that life has bestowed on you. Which is silly, because you now need those gifts more than ever.
Right. Back to the book with those big cheerful letters and pictures of people who are Happy. Except that one (you) isn’t. Look at those chapters! I flick through chapters on pills, exercise, eating, working, sleeping, drinking, relationships. The book reminds me of a civil code, a law book rather. It’s packed with sensible advice that is undoubtedly good for you. I’m glad it’s not my book. I already know a thing or two about what’s good for me. Don’t get me started. You won’t catch me reading this civil diagnosis code.
The sensible law book has little feet and little wings and a mellifluous voice. The voice reminds me of the voice that escaped from the box of chocolates. Although this one has a somewhat stricter sound to it.
The law book speaks:
“Well, well, well. Look what the wind’s blown in, you took your time! What have you been up to? You weren’t still sitting under that pity-stone of yours, were you?”
Not under it, ON it. (WHY am I answering a book?!)
“You were sitting under it all right, love. I’m your law book remember, so I just happen to know.”
Good for you, law book. But I don’t need a law book and certainly not one with feet, wings and a voice. Why don’t you fly back to your reader feeder pole? There are loads of people who would LOVE your genre. You’re just not my kind of book. So, spread your little wings… byeeee.
“Oy, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I am YOUR law book.”
Oooh are you now!? Well then, law book, you’re lucky you are a book, as I happen to love books, so yes, go on, join me on this journey if you must. Dish out your wonderful words of wisdom.
“Aaaawwh will you carry me? Pleeeeaaaase?”
Hmm. Should I? Should I not? A sensible law book might come in handy one day. I suppose it might even give me some structure, some support. You know what, if I read if often enough, it might fly away or wander off on its own again, which means that I won’t have to lug it aroundwith me anymore. On the other hand: a law book is what it is and does what it does, which is rule my life. Why would I let it do that? I might be losing my health, but certainly not my common sense. Or my freedom. It’s not as if I’m now suddenly going to embrace a New Regime of exercise, pills and planned happiness.
“A minute ago, you said that your were a bookworm. If you don’t mind me saying, you do remind me a little bit, just a tiny little bit of a wriggly worm now, struggling to escape.”
You can’t blame me for wanting to escape this place, can you?
“Well…you are not the only one who stepped through a hopeless gate.”
Hang on a minute…I didn’t exactly STEP though that gate, it just sort of happened I suddenly found myself on the wrong side of it.
“Take a look at the shoes that you’re wearing. They are your shoes. Handmade orthopaedic sneakers if I am not mistaken, tailor-made for the journey that you are embarking on. So…what are we waiting for?”
The law book flutters around me and occasionally tip toes on a wall. I let her be. From this day on, my life comes with a medical leaflet the size of a civil code.