•Toxic burden; hence detoxification becomes crucial
I look to my mother, her allergies in this unnatural world we’ve created through our desire for progress, power and money, our fascination for technology and our need to fit into a world that gets faster and faster. I wonder about all the fruit and vegetables we’ve eaten, the chemicals that have been sprayed upon them to stop nature taking place, disease or pests consuming profits. If you took all the pesticides we’ve eaten throughout our lives, added them together and then offered the collection to us to drink right now, would there be a glassful or a bucketful? I think of the time Anna worked as a cleaner, squeezing out bleach, oven cleaner, multi surface sprays and bathroom mousses, ironically all with fragrances such as lavender, pine and lemon fresh; how she tried not to breathe in or had to leave the room for half an hour because of the fumes. And all those times when she just had to get on with it, breathe the fumes because she had to get finished on time. Had someone’s ironing to do before they came back from this slavery trap of modern life. And I wonder....
•
The dark had set in hours before. We carried on because there seemed no other choice. Pete was in a good mood, whistling and making up limericks. And he walked behind Anna and I most of the way, which was fine by us. Our initial intention was to walk all the way round the Sea of Galilee but we’d set off too late, probably for the best as we hadn’t realised it was more than fifty-three kilometres in circumference. Instead we bussed fourteen kilometres to Tiberius with the intention of hitch-hiking from there to Capernaum, where the apostles Peter, Andrew, James and John were born and where Jesus first began to preach to the masses. After half an hour Jane moaned enough for Helen to go back with her, leaving just Pete, Anna and I. By five p.m. we gave up the idea of hitch-hiking in favour of walking as far round the Sea of Galilee as we could, before sleeping in a bus stop until a bus arrived. By six p.m. it was pitch black and we were already tired, just Pete’s whistling and silly songs to motivate us. But on we went, because there was nothing else to do. At nine p.m. we reached a fish restaurant next to the ruins of Capernaum and stopped for one beer each, an extravagance we'd earned but could ill afford. Relaxing in welcome light for a change we were approached by a slight English lad called Ricky who described himself as an “alcoholic skinhead from Stoke” and had a tattoo on his forearm spelling ‘Riot.’ Ricky had been thrown off his kibbutz but had found work at this restaurant during the day. We finished our beers and he walked outside with us, said he was pleased to meet some English people for a change. Off the road we went, along the shore a little, found ourselves a spot. He gave us free beer and wine, steak with pitta bread, ice cream for pudding. We got drunk under the stars, cooked on a fire that lasted all night through, dipped our toes in the Galilee and laughed at Pete, who had a cardboard box to curl up in and looked downright miserable. Anna, Ricky and I settled down on thin mattresses and warmed ourselves to sleep by the fire. Then promising to visit again, we said goodbye to Ricky in the morning and got a hitch straight away, missing completely the new church built on the site of Saint Peter’s house, the ruins of the old Roman town, one of the oldest synagogues in the world and an excavated fishing boat from the time of Jesus. Another lift took us to the bottom of the Golan, where Pete accepted a lift to Bnei Yehuda. Anna and I decided to walk. And it was here, among the golden slopes of the Golan, pausing to look back down at the shimmering Galilee with aching legs, that I first realised I was falling in love with the girl beside me. We didn’t speak much, just smiled at each other and continued climbing, turned round to convince ourselves we were really there. I touched the top of her sun darkened back, her shoulder that glistened with sweat. I pretended to pull her up, an excuse to hold her hand while she laughed along, and Ricky got the sack back down below. It took us three hours to arrive at the top, another hour to make our way back to Afiq. But there, climbing that dusty road under deep blue skies, unable to venture off track because of signs that warned of landmines, we were as happy as we ever could be.
•
Anna goes off to Newcastle for her hastily arranged appointment with a breast care nurse, hoping to find something for Isla’s birthday beforehand. I pick Joe up from school, ask if he wants a story cd for the car as we’re going to get Isla from nursery.
He wants “rock-star” music, asks if I have any.
“Of course.” I walk over to my music collection. “I’ve got lots”
“Yes Daddy, but does it have guitars?”
“Oh yes”
“And drums as well? Does it have drums?”
I smile to myself. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. He didn’t like “noisy” music before. He preferred classical.
“All rock-star music has guitars and drums Joe”
Fifteen minutes later we’re driving through North Shields listening to The Ramones on high volume and I find myself disappointed that Joe isn’t trying to jump out of his booster seat, that he hasn’t commented how cool the police siren start to Psycho Therapy is. Isla’s overjoyed to see her big brother, rushes to cuddle him. I stand there, proud parent of two beautiful, intelligent and sensitive children. Things are different on the way home though. If Isla isn’t shouting then Joe’s moaning. And if Joe isn’t moaning then Isla’s shouting. Most of the time though, there’s both shouting and moaning. When they start hitting each other I lose my temper, yell at them to behave and keep quiet. But then we turn into our street and Joe spots Anna out the window. His moaning stops instantly and I haven’t applied the handbrake before he’s running down the street towards her. Isla’s not far behind, screaming in delight. I look down the pavement at them all hugging, seatbelt tight to my chest, stopping my heart from falling out. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. They don’t have a clue about what’s to come, about what their Mammy has to go through, about how it could kill her.
Anna’s been reassured by the nurse but can’t remember anything she was told. Later she remembers the nurse has worked in breast care for over eleven years and only once has seen cancer spread from one breast to the other. In all other instances of two breasts being infected they’ve been separate cases of cancer. We look at each other, smile weakly. Every time we’ve received news so far it’s been terrible, the situation worsening. People say ‘don’t worry, she’s young and healthy, she’ll fight it off.’ I’ve heard it numerous times. Don’t they realise? When you’re younger your cells multiply faster. Cancer spreads quicker. But then, what did I know about cancer, even just a few days ago? Since diagnosis she’s received mountains of cakes and chocolates from friends, all well-meaning and given with love. Tumours feed on sugars, devour them. It’s the worst possible thing you can eat. I look at her; that lost expression when the children aren’t around, when she’s not doing something to take her mind from it. She’s slim, small chested too. It wouldn’t have far to travel from one to the other. But I say something designed to be reassuring. She has another appointment on Tuesday, to see if she has cancer in the other breast. And, I presume, to ask about the likelihood of cancer elsewhere; and chances of survival. Tuesday is important for another reason too. It’s March 10th; Isla’s third birthday.
•
We were told to stay in the living room with the lights off until the military exercise was finished. A neighbouring kibbutz’s soldiers were going to invade and see if they could take over some of the houses. If we’d known what was to happen the very next night we wouldn’t have found it all so exciting, wouldn’t have smiled at the irony of such timing. The operation was over the other side of Afiq so we couldn’t see anything. Instead, we lit a candle and told ghost stories. It only took twenty minutes but nobody told us. We stayed like that for over two hours until someone saw Hagai wandering about. Then, with lights on, we talked about travelling. Anna said she couldn’t. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to. She had to move to Newcastle in January to start nursing training. Everything was organised.
