“I really need to figure out a way to travel more.”
It’s interesting, what you think about when the word “cancer” enters your vocabulary in a way that only cancer can. When it is no longer something “out there” and has taken up space in your life. When the mundane things that you take for granted, like a long soak in the tub, are replaced with waiting for phone calls from the hospital.
Read part four here :
The “C” word isn’t anything anyone wants to hear while they’re sitting in a paper gown on an exam table. You never know exactly how you’re going to react until it actually happens. A tidal wave of emotion threatens to pull you under, drowning in a combination of fear, denial, and disbelief. When you finally come up for air, there doesn’t seem to be enough of it any more.
My journey through cancer continues. Read “One Word – part three” here :
“Just tell me the truth. Am I going to lose my leg?”
“I don’t think it will come to that, but I can’t be sure.”
A cut on my leg changed my entire life. Read the next chapter in my journey through cancer here :
“Well, I know why your leg won’t heal. You have cancer.”
I felt the world fall out beneath me. My stomach sank. All of the air was sucked out of my lungs and everything suddenly became an odd shade of grey.
Read part one of this series here :
We took the guided tour of Trinity College, which included the “Book of Kells” exhibit. You are not allowed to take photos, but there are plenty of souvenirs in the gift shop. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, so I suppose whatever it consisted of I would have been impressed.
They enlarged pages from the manuscript and mounted them on the wall, complete with backlighting. There were collections of other wood and leather bound manuscripts on display, along with an assortment of the dyes thought to have been used.
As I moved from one panel to the next, stopping to read the description and to examine the minute details (the tour guide told us to be on the lookout for a cat in one of the pages, but I couldn’t find it) I was in awe of not only the work, but the dedication to it.
There was one panel in particular that I kept returning to. A 10th century riddle that I simply couldn’t walk away from, knowing there was a chance I would never be able to find it again, no matter how long I combed through the internet. So I put down my bag, brought out my journal and jotted it down.
My journey to Ireland’s sacred landscapes wouldn’t be complete without visiting Trinity College in Dublin. For what could be more sacred to a writer than walking the same path as once travelled by Oscar Wilde and Bram Stoker (to name but two)?
I continued to be inspired and can’t wait to return. Please visit my website to read my latest blog post.
“Not someone you’d want to meet, the Washer at the Ford. The Bean Nighe. Certainly not someone you’d want in charge of your laundry. For if she sets to washing for you, it is your burial garb she’s fretting over. It is said that the Bean Nighe are the spirits of women who died in childbirth, cursed to this work until the time when they would have died naturally.”
Read my review of “At the Ford” on my website.