I haven’t been too chatty lately. My last post, at the end of the year, was remarkably upbeat (for me). No soon was the ink dry than the serpent was awake again, and life got considerably less sweet and good. But we ticked along, with a big dose of help from Dad, and a fair bit of optimism that a new drug would be the answer we had been looking for. Well now Dad is back in Wales, the drug has not, as yet, been the stuff that miracles are made off. In fact, life for the man of the house is more challenging than ever. It is as I feared it might be, with hope that remission is imminent ebbing away, and the perpetual question hanging over us…’what on earth do we do next’.
When I started this blog it was a kitchen diary, and behind that was a hope that good food would be healing, would somehow be enough. I still believe that good food is one of life’s great pleasures, but I have learnt that can be bittersweet in a house like ours. Nothing sits comfortably in a stomach that is inflamed by Crohn’s, eating is like throwing debris into a volcano. That probably explains why there haven’t been too many cake photos popping up on here of late.
It’s not all gloomy though. There are autumn roses, a sign of resilience in this garden, blooming despite almost total neglect. As for the kids, they also seem to be largely unaware that anything is amiss. In fact, in some ways they benefit. Their Dad is pretty much always home. He’s more available to build train-sets, read stories, bowl cricket balls, and construct sofa forts than most. So we’ll hang on to that.