Expansive vistas

I can hear the waves breaking on the beach. Not because I am outside or because there are massive dramatic stormy waves crashing against the shore. In fact the sea is calm and I am calm too, sitting by the fire with tea and crumpets, but there is a high spring tide so just the other side of the dunes the small waves are breaking on the sand and shingle rhythmically, slowly, reassuringly pulled by the full moon and it's a wonderful sound, the ocean feels so close and so comforting. I have to go see it....

....I'm back. We just had to take the one minute walk across the dunes, past the brightly coloured beach huts, brighter than ever in the flat light of dusk, to look at the waves, look out to sea where a dull mist eerily restricts the view and look west to a hint of red setting sun beyond the peaceful grey sea and to look back to the house glowing with a welcoming orange light. Now I'm back in the warmth of the house with snoring dogs; we're all tired after a day out on the beach that is now covered by that advancing tide.

Earlier today our friend Amanda visited us with her silky-eared beagle Ruby and we walked miles out to the sea's edge at low tide where the beds of mussels were more exposed than I think I've ever seen and a multitude of seabirds took advantage of this ideal spot for a feast of various creatures in the shallow, silty water. At first glance down the vast expanse of sand there appeared to be no sign of life but getting to the shoreline and watching through binoculars revealed so much activity. The birds agitate the muddy seabed with their long-toed feet before plunging their perfectly designed beaks into the water to collect their food. These birds are mostly over-wintering here having flown hundreds or even thousands of miles from their summer breeding grounds so they are understandably keen to eat well when they get the chance. They are also reluctant to be disturbed so even though we had a gang of five dogs with us at the water's edge they were persistent with their feeding and paid little or no attention to us, conserving valuable energy rather than flying away. Gulls, oystercatchers, sandpipers, curlew, ringed plovers, egrets and sanderlings all coming together with a common purpose.

You may have guessed that we are back on the north Norfolk coast, back at Silversands relaxing by the sea. This is our third visit this year and once again it has come at exactly the right time for us. The last two months have been very tough, on the back of the previous nine tough months and so we need this time to recover and reflect and there is no better place to do that than here. We each have our individual recovering to do but we definitely need to recover together. Nick is progressing well physically and managed a two hour walk yesterday, slowly with plenty of pauses to watch birds, have a picnic and of course to do some press ups but this is a huge step. Her body still aches all over and she is painfully stiff and gets out of breath and tired easily but she has both the strength and the motivation to keep going. That's the magic of this place. Being here has always been about long walks and good food and thankfully Nick's appetite is improving, food tastes normal again and she has even enjoyed a small glass of wine or two! Her stomach is still tender and she feels full easily but at least she gets hungry and enjoys her meals now especially after being out in the sea air. Hopefully this trip can also help her turn a corner emotionally, help us both move away from cancer and begin to look forward. I think all this time spent on huge beaches, looking out across the never-ending expanse of sand, up into the biggest of skies and out across the slate grey sea is very cleansing for the mind. I love the muted colours of the east coast in winter, milky sunlight and a dramatic absence of drama in the landscape.There is no interruption, no challenge, no complication in these vistas and that feels like healing to me, to my stirred up mind and I am soaking it up in lungfuls, eyefuls, soulfuls and storing it up to take home with me to keep me safe. 

Like cancer, I thought that stress was something that happened to other people. Who knew? It can get to us all and can be as hard to recognise or diagnose as cancer in its own way but maybe it's even harder to pin down, harder to talk about and harder to understand. Maybe. Luckily I have an amazing GP who recognised the random symptoms I described, helped me understand it and gave me some much needed time off work to recover from it but it's still hard to admit to yourself that this is what is going on and why it has arrived so late to the party! Apparently it's not uncommon to get through what might appear to be the worst of the whole process of dealing with a partner's cancer and then suffer from stress towards the end of the journey when the obvious reaction you might think would be relief and happiness. Stress can be very similar to grief in its manifestation and it has occurred to me that I had maybe prepared myself for grief and so emotionally this was always going to happen. Who knows? So sleepless nights, an almost manic amount of energy coupled with permanent exhaustion, a voracious insatiable appetite, a propensity for tears, a short temper and inability to cope with the slightest problem were the treats awaiting me as Nick came out the other end of this year of trauma and treatment. Cancer makes you feel physically weak, stress makes you feel emotionally weak especially when all your partner needs is your strength (or so you think when you're beating yourself up about every little thing). When someone you love is facing such an incredibly frightening disease it feels pretty pathetic to have struggles of your own but actually realising that this is only to be expected is the biggest hurdle and now I've accepted this it does feel easier to work through it. I have also realised that my recovery is not necessarily directly connected to Nick's recovery. I initially assumed that as she got stronger all my insecurities and anxieties would miraculously melt away but this is certainly not the case.

So yes, we really need this time under big skies, looking out to sea, walking through and over dunes and across big empty beaches, eating good food, running along unfamiliar country lanes and doing lots of nothing much at all. Like those over-wintering seabirds we are keen to eat well after a long arduous journey and we are reluctant to be disturbed, making the most of the chance to stop and rest. Stopping has been the hardest thing for me throughout this whole experience. Every time I've seen my counsellor she's asked whether I've stopped, taken time out for me, to meditate, breathe and turn inwards. And every time the answer has been no. In fact I've started to pre-empt the question and even if I'm telling her that everything has been ok and I've been feeling alright I still have to admit that I haven't stopped. So that is my aim while we're here and hopefully when we return home too. Even my GP prescribed mindful meditation so I have to work on that. I already feel so much better than I did and I'm sure this break away from everything will be a turning point for me, a time to re-evaluate, to stop and reflect on all that has happened and re-set my mind to a new future that will always have cancer in its past but will hopefully be the richer for it.