Sometimes kindness wears a high-vis jacket and shouts through a loud speaker. Often it’s as simple as a glance, an understanding, a signal that means that this time, there’s no need to ask or to explain myself. That free lunch and tea offered after a body and mind melt-down in Pret having failed to cross London in time for a train, someone doing a whole tube journey just so I don't have to pull my own suitcase, someone in the USA offering out of the blue to pay for some of my treatment. Most of all it's the people who keep checking in, who will do what it takes to stay in contact and to see me, who don't assume that because of the circumstances I've lost the desire to be sociable, to live as much as I can live.
And the online community, the 'Spoonies', keep me in daily check as to just how fortunate I really am. Someone who can’t get out of bed to get a glass of water but who is going to have to swallow her painkillers dry. It seems we’ve all been there. I remember the terrifying moment at the start of this when I couldn't move my body from a sofa. And how I only just made it to open the door once help arrived. When I couldn't even crawl. I wish I was there with her. I wish I could do more than simply tell her it will be OK. But she’s strong.
She knows she’s got this.