One day this week I was feeling so steamrollered, unable to answer emails, to post the review of Morgan Bach’s poetry collection, a book I had spent two weeks loving and reviewing. It took every ounce of strength to move. I could barely function. But then I read an interview with Sam Neill where he talked about his cancer experience, his new memoir and more importantly his life experience. I connected with so much he said, resparking, rebooting. I also did this with Dai Henwood when he talked about his cancer experience on the radio recently. Sam said he was more interested in talking about life than about his time with cancer. Living. Doing things. I get that.

For ten years I never mentioned my health issues publicly, and rarely to friends. But when I was about to have the transplant, I decided it was time to speak openly. Partly as an explanation for reduced activity and partly as a way of sharing my choices and challenges with others also facing tough health situations. I did the Listener interview and I’ve posted updates on the blog. I have acknowledged deep gratitude for the stellar team who care for me at Auckland Hospital’s Haematology Department.

Since my bone marrow transplant last year, and the subsequent onset of Graft Versus Host Disease, I have held some key daily mantra close: live one day at a time, focus on what you can do, find things to do that give you joy each day, mute toxic voices, say no. I find it hard saying no to requests, not answering emails promptly, and I find it even harder not being able to review all the poetry and children’s books I get. Especially when it feels like both categories get less review attention (children’s books and authors especially so!). So many sublime books are being published in Aotearoa, and I so love finding and sharing my idiosyncratic pathways through them. Some days I yearn to work at my old pace.

Toxic voices are an equally hard challenge. I’m also finding it heartsmashing to think a nation of families might die through enforced thirst while unbearable bloodshed is escalating on all sides. I find it hard to bear politics that are blind to the wellbeing of our planet, to the wellbeing of people across all cultures, societies, classes, locations. The word community feels like a key word.

This week my body has carried the weight of such heavy thought and grief and speechlessness. How to weather my myriad symptoms that are on an indefinite timeline and that pin me to a state of disfunction? How to weather global grief?

I am going back to the notion of one precious day. Here I am this morning reading Ruby Tui’s picture book for children and it is so darn uplifting as she writes of her child self, reaching out to the girl crying next to her with her spilled ice cream, picking up the rugby ball and running. I am grateful to Sam and Dai for speaking and sharing their stories with us, I am grateful to the aid workers, the cancer researchers, the peace brokers, the writers and publishers in Aotearoa who lift our hearts, the musicians who share the gift of music, the people who have sent me kind and gentle emails, the nurse on the end of the phone, the health workers working such long tough hours, the writers who contribute to both my blogs, the people who are so very patient with me, for my partner and daughters.

Poetry Box and Poetry Shelf are a joy patch in my day, along with reading and baking bread, cooking simple meals, and daydreaming. I may not keep to my schedules, but I will keep celebrating what words can do. One precious day at a time.