1 May 2024

‘In the way of righteousness is life; and in the pathway thereof there is no death.’ Proverbs 12:28

Yesterday was sunny and finally warm, a beautiful day to be in London. Unless you were in a hospital basement attached to a drip, that is… Nevertheless, I was feeling upbeat, sustained by my memories of wonderful birthday celebrations and a dose of Jason and Kylie from my 80s playlist. My friends replied with this wonderful edit of the selfie I sent from my chemo chair:

After some hours I tired of transcribing music on to the laptop; it was time to take a delve back into the past…

So where were we? York in the spring of 1994, I believe, with me having swapped my tree costume for a similarly-sized pile of heavy reading. Anglo-Saxon Literature was that term’s module, and I did quite enjoy being plunged into a completely different world and language (now who’s square?!)

But life itself was still pretty miserable; I wanted to be dancing on tables with Ruth and Becca, driving down highways in a Mustang convertible, running in my aeroplane pose under huge open skies…

Instead there was the Friday night Derwent Bop, the supposed highlight of the week on campus. ‘Bop’ suggests that there might be fun involved, but think school disco with the addition of cheap, warm beer…

In the absence of the kind of adventures I was craving and similarly-minded people to enjoy them with, I began to focus entirely on my quest for truth. It so happened that I met a group of students who were Catholic and keen to share what they believed. I took it all in and thought about it. Constantly. It all seemed pretty sincere and convincing to me, but I wasn’t going to believe the first thing I came across- I had to be persuaded that it was the ONE truth, so comparisons needed to be made. I thought at the time that the matter could be approached in the same way as an academic thesis- weighing up the evidence and formulating a carefully-considered conclusion. I also thought that the issue in hand was selecting a church, choosing a particular denomination and a way of doing things.

My research led me to a Church of England service that heavily featured a streamer-waving, dancing lady: that was enough to tell me I should plump for the Catholic option, which seemed altogether more serious and reverent.

I thus threw myself into Catholicism and was prepared for confirmation, which would allow me to take communion. As part of this I was required to attend confession to have my sins absolved by the priest. I was dreading this- I was a 19-year old girl with a slightly wild past: I had a list as long as my arm…

The list was not required. As I kneeled trembling in the (slightly freaky) confession box, something completely unexpected happened. My eyes were suddenly opened and I was given the ability to see past the priest to Christ on the cross, and was given a totally illuminating and overwhelming realisation of what it meant, that He had taken all my sin on himself by dying on the cross: not things on a list but everything that I am, was and will be. That’s a bit extreme, I hear you say! But Jesus himself clarified this: sin isn’t just the really bad things like terrible crimes, explaining that even being angry with someone is the same as murder in God’s eyes- there are no degrees of sin and even the best person on earth is not holy enough to get to heaven on their own merits. Every other religion on earth is based on what a person can do: trying their best to do good things, following certain practices and rituals, but true Christianity is different: ‘It is finished’ stated Christ on the cross. It is freedom! It is the answer to my Plane Theory!

I felt that so clearly and practically ran out of the church into the Spring sunshine. Everything looked different: a long time later, I came across this hymn, Loved with Everlasting Love, and was staggered to find that it described my experience exactly:

‘Heav’n above is deeper blue,

earth around is sweeter green,

that which glows in ev’ry hue

Christless eyes have never seen.

Birds in song his glories show,

flow’rs with richer beauties shine

since I know, as now I know,

I am his and he is mine.’

It was the first day of my new life. I had been born again. Oh no, here we go, not one of those ‘born again’ freaks, I hear you thinking. I thought Sam was a normal (ish), reasonable type… But Jesus himself said ‘You must be born again’ (John 3:7) and when you are, ‘death is swallowed up in victory’ (I Corinthians 15:24).  ‘For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God’ (Colossians 3:3). The dying part has happened already- woo! So believers can say: ‘Death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?’ (1 Corinthians 15:55). That has always given me the greatest comfort, and now more than ever.

This was the one truth I was looking for- and it is based on indisputable fact: God did not leave us to guess but clearly laid out everything in the Bible, from the prophecies about Christ in the Old Testament, all of which came true to the letter, to the words of Christ in the New Testament, which were heard and recorded but a multitude of people. Furthermore, humans would never come up with this as it goes completely against our natural instincts, wanting to do or contribute something oursleves.

Naturally we can’t understand this, for only God can open someone’s heart to these truths, but if anyone is genuinely seeking this will happen as it did with me: ‘Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you’ (Matthew 7:7).

I didn’t fully realise at the time that I had had an experience which took me outside of what the Catholic church was presenting to me… God did not leave me there but instead gave me something- or rather someone-pretty wonderful to explain fully what had happened to me and to show me the way into full truth.

You’ll have to wait for that next time, however, as we need to get back to yesterday’s adventures, which may have included a little accidental sightseeing tour of London and two different branches of McDonalds…

The day’s chemo finished at 7 pm; I was travelling home from London alone for the first time as Steve needed to be with Isaac. I felt good, with no signs of the usual post-chemo weakness and tummy pains, and marched up Harley Street confidently towards the bus stop. There was a bus already waiting; after quickly checking it stopped at Kings Cross I jumped on, feeling smug that I had nailed this bus malarkey. Or so I thought.

‘Next stop Oxford Circus’ announced the electronic voice. What?!

‘Steve, help! What do I do?!’

A couple of minutes of googling and Steve replied from afar.

‘You’ve definitely got the wrong bus,’ he revealed.

‘Well I know that..’

I got off at Picadilly Circus, and rather than being annoyed was struck with a sudden sense of adventure and possibility. Ooh, this was fun! It was a gorgeous evening, with the sun shining on the buildings.

I took it all in. And then gave way to my bizarre sudden craving for McDonalds Chicken Selects, treating myself to a box of 5 for a dinner on the run. As I stepped out of McDs, the glittering lights of theatres caught my eye and ignited a world of further possibility inside me. Maybe I should take in a show…Which one would I choose?

But sensible thoughts took over and I hurried to the tube, food stuffed in my LOC medical goody bag and chemo pump swinging merrily as I power-walked. Could I get to Kings Cross in 15 minutes to catch the 19.57? Despite my efforts running up the escalator at Kings Cross looking slightly deranged, I arrived at the platform as the train was pulling out. Whoops.

There was only one thing for it. McDonalds again, this time for a consolation McFlurry. Which was a great idea until I remembered that I’d just been infused with a drug that gives extreme cold sensitivity- I couldn’t even hold the thing, let alone eat it… Into the goody bag it went.

I did not intend for the ice cream to go to waste, however. Once I had I finally plonked myself on a train I set the PurpleSam v Galaxy McFlurry contest in motion. Ding ding! I started strongly, taking a bold spoonful of ice cream ribboned with chocolate. Yum…

Bad move. It felt as if I had just eaten fire. Cold fire, if you can imagine that. I was going to have to change tactic if I wanted to win. My new target became the patches of melting ice-cream, sipped slowly from the spoon like soup. Success! I methodically polished the lot off over the course of the journey (and narrowly missed getting off at Knebworth as I was buried in blogging as well as ice-cream wars…)

I finally reached home just after 9 pm to see a little face at the window waving wildly. Isaac and I had lots of hugs and caught up on the day. I was on a total high- a combination of my London adventures, the McFlurry and high-dose steroids- and Steve had to practically gag me to get me to shut up as midnight was approaching. But my mind and body didn’t shut up, keeping me awake until around 4 and waking me again well before 6. So the night was spent both dancing in a darkened bedroom, in and out of bed, singing in my head and writing about two novels’ worth of blog posts, most of which I have forgotten as writing it down under the covers blind as a bat was not appealing. Ah well.

So this is Irene’s last chance to do some good before she is hauled before the inquisition at next week’s scan, so any further singing of ‘Come on Irene’ from my readers will be very welcome… But Steve and I rest entirely in the fact that it is not in our hands and that all will be well:

‘How sweet it is to awake every day knowing that God my Savior is on his throne, that he has purposed all that the day shall bring forth, and that he has purposed it for me, for my everlasting good.’ Don Fortner